handing them pepper in an old pomade pot and vinegar in an old
eau-de-cologne bottle), Nejdanov took his seat in the same carriage in
which he had come the night before. This time it was harnessed to two
horses, not three, as the third had been newly shod, and was a little
lame.

Markelov had spoken very little during the meal, had eaten nothing
whatever, and breathed with difficulty. He let fall a few bitter remarks
about his farm and threw up his arms in despair. "All the same, it will
have to be altered afterwards!"

Mashurina asked Nejdanov if she might come with him as far as the town,
where she had a little shopping to do. "I can walk back afterwards or,
if need be, ask the first peasant I meet for a lift in his cart."

Markelov accompanied them to the door, saying that he would soon send
for Nejdanov again, and then..., then (he trembled suddenly, but pulled
himself together) they would have to settle things definitely. Solomin
must also come. He (Markelov) was only waiting to hear from Vassily
Nikolaevitch, and that as soon as he heard from him there would be
nothing to hinder them from making a "beginning," as the masses (the
same masses who failed to understand the word "participation") refused
to wait any longer!

"Oh, by the way, what about those letters you wanted to show me? What is
the fellow's name... Kisliakov?" Nejdanov asked.

"Later on... I will show them to you later on. We can do it all at the
same time."

The carriage moved.

"Hold yourself in readiness!" Markelov's voice was heard again, as he
stood on the doorstep. And by his side, with the same hopeless dejection
in his face, straightening his bent back, his hands clasped behind him,
diffusing an odour of rye bread and mustiness, not hearing a single
word that was being said around him, stood the model servant, his
grandfather's decrepit old valet.

Mashurina sat smoking silently all the way, but when they reached the
town gates she gave a loud sigh.

"I feel so sorry for Sergai Mihailovitch," she remarked, her face
darkening.

"He is over-worked, and it seems to me his affairs are in a bad way,"
Nejdanov said.

"I was not thinking of that."

"What were you thinking of then?"

"He is so unhappy and so unfortunate. It would be difficult to find a
better man than he is, but he never seems to get on."

Nejdanov looked at her.

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Nothing whatever, but you can see for yourself. Goodbye, Alexai