“Silence, cyneec!"[A] exclaimed Mikhalevich.
[Footnote A: He says Tsuinnik instead
of Tsinik.]
“Cynic,” said Lavretsky, correcting him.
“Just so, cyneec,” repeated the undisconcerted
Mikhalevich.
Even when he had taken his seat in the tarantass,
in which his flat and marvellously light portmanteau
had been stowed away, he still went on talking.
Enveloped in a kind of Spanish cloak, with a collar
reddened by long use, and with lion’s claws instead
of hooks, he continued to pour forth his opinions
on the destinies of Russia, waving his swarthy hand
the while in the air, as if he were sowing the seeds
of future prosperity. At last the horses set off.
“Remember my last three words!” he exclaimed,
leaning almost entirely out of the carriage, and scarcely
able to keep his balance. “Religion, Progress,
Humanity! Farewell!” His head, on which
his forage cap was pressed down to his eyes, disappeared
from sight. Lavretsky was left alone at the door,
where he remained gazing attentively along the road,
until the carriage was out of sight. “And
perhaps he is right,” he thought, as he went
back into the house. “Perhaps I am a marmot.”
Much of what Mikhalevich had said had succeeded in
winning its way into his heart, although at the time
he had contradicted him and disagreed with him.
Let a man only be perfectly honest—no one
can utterly gainsay him.
Two days later, Maria Dmitrievna arrived at Vasilievskoe,
according to her promise, and all her young people
with her. The little girls immediately ran into
the garden, but Maria Dmitrievna languidly walked
through the house, and languidly praised all she saw.
She looked upon her visit to Lavretsky as a mark of
great condescension, almost a benevolent action.
She smiled affably when Anton and Apraxia came to
kiss her hand, according to the old custom of household
serfs, and in feeble accents she asked for tea.
To the great vexation of Anton, who had donned a pair
of knitted white gloves, it was not he who handed
the tea to the lady visitor, but Lavretsky’s
hired lackey, a fellow who, in the old man’s
opinion, had not a notion of etiquette. However,
Anton had it all his own way at dinner. With
firm step, he took up his position behind Madame Kalitine’s
chair, and he refused to give up his post to any one.
The apparition of visitors at Vasilievskoe—a
sight for so many years unknown there—both
troubled and cheered the old man. It was a pleasure
for him to see that his master was acquainted with
persons of some standing in society.
Anton was not the only person who was agitated that
day. Lemm was excited too. He had put on
a shortish snuff-colored coat with pointed tails,
and had tied his cravat tight, he coughed incessantly,
and made way for every one with kindly and affable
mien. As for Lavretsky, he remarked with satisfaction
that he remained on the same friendly footing with
Liza as before. As soon as she arrived she cordially
held out her hand to him.
