d me.

"My crops have failed, too." He laughed a thin little laugh and gave
a sly wink as though this were really funny. "No money, no corn, and
a yard full of labourers like Count Sheremetyev's. I want to kick them
out, but I haven't the heart to."

Natalya Gavrilovna laughed, and began questioning him about his private
affairs. Her presence gave me a pleasure such as I had not felt for a
long time, and I was afraid to look at her for fear my eyes would betray
my secret feeling. Our relations were such that that feeling might seem
surprising and ridiculous.

She laughed and talked with Ivan Ivanitch without being in the least
disturbed that she was in my room and that I was not laughing.

"And so, my friends, what are we to do?" I asked after waiting for a
pause. "I suppose before we do anything else we had better immediately
open a subscription-list. We will write to our friends in the capitals
and in Odessa, Natalie, and ask them to subscribe. When we have got
together a little sum we will begin buying corn and fodder for the
cattle; and you, Ivan Ivanitch, will you be so kind as to undertake
distributing the relief? Entirely relying on your characteristic tact
and efficiency, we will only venture to express a desire that before you
give any relief you make acquaintance with the details of the case on
the spot, and also, which is very important, you should be careful that
corn should be distributed only to those who are in genuine need, and
not to the drunken, the idle, or the dishonest."

"Yes, yes, yes..." muttered Ivan Ivanitch. "To be sure, to be sure."

"Well, one won't get much done with that slobbering wreck," I thought,
and I felt irritated.

"I am sick of these famine-stricken peasants, bother them! It's nothing
but grievances with them!" Ivan Ivanitch went on, sucking the rind of
the lemon. "The hungry have a grievance against those who have enough,
and those who have enough have a grievance against the hungry. Yes...
hunger stupefies and maddens a man and makes him savage; hunger is not a
potato. When a man is starving he uses bad language, and steals, and may
do worse.... One must realize that."

Ivan Ivanitch choked over his tea, coughed, and shook all over with a
squeaky, smothered laughter.

"'There was a battle at Pol... Poltava,'" he brought out,
gesticulating with both hands in protest against the laughter and
coughing which prevented him from speaking. "'There was a battle at
Poltava!' W