draevitch astonishes me,
too, sometimes. There is a certain strain in him... a certain strain...
of the tribune."

"C'est parce qu'il est orateur!" Kollomietzev exclaimed enthusiastically
in French. "Your husband is a marvellous orator and is accustomed to
success... ses propres paroles le grisent ... and then his desire for
popularity. By the way, he is rather annoyed just now, is he not? Il
boude? Eh?"

Valentina Mihailovna looked at Mariana.

"I haven't noticed it," she said after a pause. "Yes," Kollomietzev
continued pensively, "he was rather overlooked at Easter."

Valentina Mihailovna indicated Mariana with her eyes. Kollomietzev
smiled and screwed up his eyes, conveying to her that he understood.
"Mariana Vikentievna," he exclaimed suddenly, in an unnecessarily loud
tone of voice, "do you intend teaching at the school again this year?"

Mariana turned round from the cage.

"Are you interested to know, Simion Petrovitch?"

"Certainly. I am very much interested."

"Would you forbid it?"

"I would forbid nihilists even so much as to think of schools. I would
put all schools into the hands of the clergy, and with an eye on them I
wouldn't mind running one myself!"

"Really! I haven't the slightest idea what I shall do this year. Last
year things were not at all successful. Besides, how can you get a
school together in the summer?"

Mariana blushed deeply all the time she was speaking, as if it cost her
some effort. She was still very self-conscious.

"Are you not sufficiently prepared?" Valentina Mihailovna asked
sarcastically.

"Perhaps not."

"Heavens!" Kollomietzev exclaimed. "What do I hear? Oh ye gods! Is
preparation necessary to teach peasants the alphabet?"

At this moment Kolia ran into the drawing room shouting "Mamma! mamma!
Papa has come!" And after him, waddling on her stout little legs,
appeared an old grey-haired lady in a cap and yellow shawl, and also
announced that Boris had come.

This lady was Sipiagin's aunt, and was called Anna Zaharovna. Everyone
in the drawing room rushed out into the hall, down the stairs, and on
to the steps of the portico. A long avenue of chipped yews ran straight
from these steps to the high road--a carriage and four was already
rolling up the avenue straight towards them. Valentina Mihailovna,
standing in front, waved her pocket handkerchief, Kolia shrieked with
delight, the coachman adroitly pulled up the steaming horses, a footman
came down headlo