will be no scandal,' he consoled himself by reflecting, 'and for
that I am thankful.' The silence was prolonged, a silence distressing
and awkward. Both of them were ill at ease. Each was conscious that the
other understood him. That is pleasant to friends, and always very
unpleasant to those who are not friends, especially when it is
impossible either to have things out or to separate.

'Haven't I bound up your leg too tight?' inquired Bazarov at last.

'No, not at all; it's capital,' answered Pavel Petrovitch; and after a
brief pause, he added, 'There's no deceiving my brother; we shall have
to tell him we quarrelled over politics.'

'Very good,' assented Bazarov. 'You can say I insulted all
anglomaniacs.'

'That will do capitally. What do you imagine that man thinks of us
now?' continued Pavel Petrovitch, pointing to the same peasant, who had
driven the hobbled horses past Bazarov a few minutes before the duel,
and going back again along the road, took off his cap at the sight of
the 'gentlefolk.'

'Who can tell!' answered Bazarov; 'it's quite likely he thinks nothing.
The Russian peasant is that mysterious unknown about whom Mrs.
Radcliffe used to talk so much. Who is to understand him! He doesn't
understand himself!'

'Ah! so that's your idea!' Pavel Petrovitch began; and suddenly he
cried, 'Look what your fool of a Piotr has done! Here's my brother
galloping up to us!'

Bazarov turned round and saw the pale face of Nikolai Petrovitch, who
was sitting in the droshky. He jumped out of it before it had stopped,
and rushed up to his brother.

'What does this mean?' he said in an agitated voice. 'Yevgeny
Vassilyitch, pray, what is this?'

'Nothing,' answered Pavel Petrovitch; 'they have alarmed you for
nothing. I had a little dispute with Mr. Bazarov, and I have had to pay
for it a little.'

'But what was it all about, mercy on us!'

'How can I tell you? Mr. Bazarov alluded disrespectfully to Sir Robert
Peel. I must hasten to add that I am the only person to blame in all
this, while Mr. Bazarov has behaved most honourably. I called him out.'

'But you're covered with blood, good Heavens!'

'Well, did you suppose I had water in my veins? But this blood-letting
is positively beneficial to me. Isn't that so, doctor? Help me to get
into the droshky, and don't give way to melancholy. I shall be quite
well to-morrow. That's it; capital. Drive on, coachman.'

Nikolai Petrovitch walked after the droshky; Baza