Vassilissa did not know what to say.
’You won’t ... Well, as you will!
God be with you. In that case, good-bye!
Good-bye, Vassilissa. I wish you all happiness
and prosperity ... but I ... but I ...’
And Pyetushkov sobbed violently. Onisim with
all his might held him up from behind ... first his
face worked, then he burst out crying. And Vassilissa
cried too.
Ten years later, one might have met in the streets
of the little town of O—— a thinnish
man with a reddish nose, dressed in an old green coat
with a greasy plush collar. He occupied a small
garret in the baker’s shop, with which we are
familiar. Praskovia Ivanovna was no longer of
this world. The business was carried on by her
niece, Vassilissa, and her husband, the red-haired,
dim-eyed baker, Demofont. The man in the green
coat had one weakness: he was over fond of drink.
He was, however, always quiet when he was tipsy.
The reader has probably recognised him as Ivan Afanasiitch.
