She got up to go away and took her daughter by the hand.

“I like your place here very much,” she said, and smiled, and from that faint, diffident smile one could tell how unwell she really was, how young and how pretty; she had a pale, thinnish face with dark eyebrows and fair hair.  And the little girl was just such another as her mother:  thin, fair, and slender.  There was a fragrance of scent about them.

“I like the river and the forest and the village,” Elena Ivanovna went on; “I could live here all my life, and I feel as though here I should get strong and find my place.  I want to help you—­I want to dreadfully—­to be of use, to be a real friend to you.  I know your need, and what I don’t know I feel, my heart guesses.  I am sick, feeble, and for me perhaps it is not possible to change my life as I would.  But I have children.  I will try to bring them up that they may be of use to you, may love you.  I shall impress upon them continually that their life does not belong to them, but to you.  Only I beg you earnestly, I beseech you, trust us, live in friendship with us.  My husband is a kind, good man.  Don’t worry him, don’t irritate him.  He is sensitive to every trifle, and yesterday, for instance, your cattle were in our vegetable garden, and one of your people broke down the fence to the bee-hives, and such an attitude to us drives my husband to despair.  I beg you,” she went on in an imploring voice, and she clasped her hands on her bosom—­“I beg you to treat us as good neighbours; let us live in peace!  There is a saying, you know, that even a bad peace is better than a good quarrel, and, ‘Don’t buy property, but buy neighbours.’  I repeat my husband is a kind man and good; if all goes well we promise to do everything in our power for you; we will mend the roads, we will build a school for your children.  I promise you.”

“Of course we thank you humbly, lady,” said Lytchkov the father, looking at the ground; “you are educated people; it is for you to know best.  Only, you see, Voronov, a rich peasant at Eresnevo, promised to build a school; he, too, said, ‘I will do this for you,’ ’I will do that for you,’ and he only put up the framework and refused to go on.  And then they made the peasants put the roof on and finish it; it cost them a thousand roubles.  Voronov did not care; he only stroked his beard, but the peasants felt it a bit hard.”

“That was a crow, but now there’s a rook, too,” said Kozov, and he winked.

There was the sound of laughter.

“We don’t want a school,” said Volodka sullenly.  “Our children go to Petrovskoe, and they can go on going there; we don’t want it.”

Elena Ivanovna seemed suddenly intimidated; her face looked paler and thinner, she shrank into herself as though she had been touched with something coarse, and walked away without uttering another word.  And she walked more and more quickly, without looking round.

“Lady,” said Rodion, walking after her, “lady, wait a bit; hear what I would say to you.”