face looked scared and woebegone, while the younger, Lida, a chubby
fair child of seven, stood beside her sister looking from under her
brows at the light.

Laptev went downstairs to his own rooms in the lower storey, where
under the low ceilings it was always close and smelt of geraniums.
In his sitting-room, Panaurov, Nina Fyodorovna's husband, was sitting
reading the newspaper. Laptev nodded to him and sat down opposite.
Both sat still and said nothing. They used to spend whole evenings
like this without speaking, and neither of them was in the least
put out by this silence.

The little girls came down from upstairs to say good-night.
Deliberately and in silence, Panaurov made the sign of the cross
over them several times, and gave them his hand to kiss. They dropped
curtsies, and then went up to Laptev, who had to make the sign of
the cross and give them his hand to kiss also. This ceremony with
the hand-kissing and curtsying was repeated every evening.

When the children had gone out Panaurov laid aside the newspaper
and said:

"It's not very lively in our God-fearing town! I must confess, my
dear fellow," he added with a sigh, "I'm very glad that at last
you've found some distraction."

"What do you mean?" asked Laptev.

"I saw you coming out of Dr. Byelavin's Just now. I expect you don't
go there for the sake of the papa."

"Of course not," said Laptev, and he blushed.

"Well, of course not. And by the way, you wouldn't find such another
old brute as that papa if you hunted by daylight with a candle. You
can't imagine what a foul, stupid, clumsy beast he is! You cultured
people in the capitals are still interested in the provinces only
on the lyrical side, only from the _paysage_ and _Poor Anton_ point
of view, but I can assure you, my boy, there's nothing logical about
it; there's nothing but barbarism, meanness, and nastiness--that's
all. Take the local devotees of science--the local intellectuals,
so to speak. Can you imagine there are here in this town twenty-eight
doctors? They've all made their fortunes, and they are living in
houses of their own, and meanwhile the population is in just as
helpless a condition as ever. Here, Nina had to have an operation,
quite an ordinary one really, yet we were obliged to get a surgeon
from Moscow; not one doctor here would undertake it. It's beyond
all conception. They know nothing, they understand nothing. They
take no interest in anything. Ask them, for in