t up and began to take leave. Anna Sergyevna
looked cordially at them, held out her beautiful, white hand to both,
and, after a moment's thought, said with a doubtful but delightful
smile. 'If you are not afraid of being dull, gentlemen, come and see me
at Nikolskoe.'

'Oh, Anna Sergyevna,' cried Arkady, 'I shall think it the greatness
happiness ...'

'And you, Monsieur Bazarov?'

Bazarov only bowed, and a last surprise was in store for Arkady; he
noticed that his friend was blushing.

'Well?' he said to him in the street; 'are you still of the same
opinion--that she's ...'

'Who can tell? See how correct she is!' retorted Bazarov; and after a
brief pause he added, 'She's a perfect grand-duchess, a royal
personage. She only needs a train on behind, and a crown on her head.'

'Our grand-duchesses don't talk Russian like that,' remarked Arkady.

'She's seen ups and downs, my dear boy; she's known what it is to be
hard up!'

'Any way, she's charming,' observed Arkady.

'What a magnificent body!' pursued Bazarov. 'Shouldn't I like to see it
on the dissecting-table.'

'Hush, for mercy's sake, Yevgeny! that's beyond everything.'

'Well, don't get angry, you baby. I meant it's first-rate. We must go
to stay with her.'

'When?'

'Well, why not the day after to-morrow. What is there to do here? Drink
champagne with Kukshina. Listen to your cousin, the Liberal
dignitary?... Let's be off the day after to-morrow. By the way, too--my
father's little place is not far from there. This Nikolskoe's on the
S---- road, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'Optime, why hesitate? leave that to fools and prigs! I say, what a
splendid body!'

Three days later the two friends were driving along the road to
Nikolskoe. The day was bright, and not too hot, and the sleek
posting-horses trotted smartly along, switching their tied and plaited
tails. Arkady looked at the road, and not knowing why, he smiled.

'Congratulate me,' cried Bazarov suddenly, 'to-day's the 22nd of June,
my guardian angel's day. Let's see how he will watch over me. To-day
they expect me home,' he added, dropping his voice.... 'Well, they can
go on expecting.... What does it matter!'

CHAPTER XVI

The country-house in which Anna Sergyevna lived stood on an exposed
hill at no great distance from a yellow stone church with a green roof,
white columns, and a fresco over the principal entrance representing
the 'Resurrection of Christ' in the 'Italian' style. Spra