sense. I must be stupid, I
suppose.'

'Haven't you forgotten your German?' queried Pavel Petrovitch.

'Oh, I understand the German.'

Pavel Petrovitch again turned the book over in his hands, and glanced
from under his brows at his brother. Both were silent.

'Oh, by the way,' began Nikolai Petrovitch, obviously wishing to change
the subject, 'I've got a letter from Kolyazin.'

'Matvy Ilyitch?'

'Yes. He has come to----to inspect the province. He's quite a bigwig
now; and writes to me that, as a relation, he should like to see us
again, and invites you and me and Arkady to the town.'

'Are you going?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.

'No; are you?'

'No, I shan't go either. Much object there would be in dragging oneself
over forty miles on a wild-goose chase. _Mathieu_ wants to show himself
in all his glory. Damn him! he will have the whole province doing him
homage; he can get on without the likes of us. A grand dignity, indeed,
a privy councillor! If I had stayed in the service, if I had drudged on
in official harness, I should have been a general-adjutant by now.
Besides, you and I are behind the times, you know.'

'Yes, brother; it's time, it seems, to order a coffin and cross one's
arms on ones breast,' remarked Nikolai Petrovitch, with a sigh.

'Well, I'm not going to give in quite so soon,' muttered his brother.
'I've got a tussle with that doctor fellow before me, I feel sure of
that.'

A tussle came off that same day at evening tea. Pavel Petrovitch came
into the drawing-room, all ready for the fray, irritable and
determined. He was only waiting for an excuse to fall upon the enemy;
but for a long while an excuse did not present itself. As a rule,
Bazarov said little in the presence of the 'old Kirsanovs' (that was
how he spoke of the brothers), and that evening he felt out of humour,
and drank off cup after cup of tea without a word. Pavel Petrovitch was
all aflame with impatience; his wishes were fulfilled at last.

The conversation turned on one of the neighbouring landowners. 'Rotten
aristocratic snob,' observed Bazarov indifferently. He had met him in
Petersburg.

'Allow me to ask you,' began Pavel Petrovitch, and his lips were
trembling, 'according to your ideas, have the words "rotten" and
"aristocrat" the same meaning?'

'I said "aristocratic snob,"' replied Bazarov, lazily swallowing a sip
of tea.

'Precisely so; but I imagine you have the same opinion of aristocrats
as of aristocratic sn