st a
birch-tree, looking green with terror.

The road from Maryino skirted the copse; a light dust lay on it,
untouched by wheel or foot since the previous day. Bazarov
unconsciously stared along this road, picked and gnawed a blade of
grass, while he kept repeating to himself, 'What a piece of foolery!'
The chill of the early morning made him shiver twice.... Piotr looked
at him dejectedly, but Bazarov only smiled; he was not afraid.

The tramp of horses' hoofs was heard along the road.... A peasant came
into sight from behind the trees. He was driving before him two horses
hobbled together, and as he passed Bazarov he looked at him rather
strangely, without touching his cap, which it was easy to see disturbed
Piotr, as an unlucky omen. 'There's some one else up early too,'
thought Bazarov; 'but he at least has got up for work, while we ...'

'Fancy the gentleman's coming,' Piotr faltered suddenly.

Bazarov raised his head and saw Pavel Petrovitch. Dressed in a light
check jacket and snow-white trousers, he was walking rapidly along the
road; under his arm he carried a box wrapped up in green cloth.

'I beg your pardon, I believe I have kept you waiting,' he observed,
bowing first to Bazarov, then to Piotr, whom he treated respectfully at
that instant, as representing something in the nature of a second. 'I
was unwilling to wake my man.'

'It doesn't matter,' answered Bazarov; 'we've only just arrived
ourselves.'

'Ah! so much the better!' Pavel Petrovitch took a look round. 'There's
no one in sight; no one hinders us. We can proceed?'

'Let us proceed.'

'You do not, I presume, desire any fresh explanations?'

'No, I don't.'

'Would you like to load?' inquired Pavel Petrovitch, taking the pistols
out of the box.

'No; you load, and I will measure out the paces. My legs are longer,'
added Bazarov with a smile. 'One, two, three.'

'Yevgeny Vassilyevitch,' Piotr faltered with an effort (he shaking as
though he were in a fever), 'say what you like, I am going farther
off.'

'Four ... five.... Good. Move away, my good fellow, move away; you may
get behind a tree even, and stop up your ears, only don't shut your
eyes; and if any one falls, run and pick him up. Six ... seven ...
eight....' Bazarov stopped. 'Is that enough?' he said, turning to Pavel
Petrovitch; 'or shall I add two paces more?'

'As you like,' replied the latter, pressing down the second bullet.

'Well, we'll make it two paces more.' Baza