air and
eyes, red, childishly-pouting lips, and little delicate hands. She wore
a neat print dress; a new blue kerchief lay lightly on her plump
shoulders. She carried a large cup of cocoa, and setting it down before
Pavel Petrovitch, she was overwhelmed with confusion: the hot blood
rushed in a wave of crimson over the delicate skin of her pretty face.
She dropped her eyes, and stood at the table, leaning a little on the
very tips of her fingers. It seemed as though she were ashamed of
having come in, and at the same time felt that she had a right to come.

Pavel Petrovitch knitted his brows severely, while Nikolai Petrovitch
looked embarrassed.

'Good morning, Fenitchka,' he muttered through his teeth.

'Good morning,' she replied in a voice not loud but resonant, and with
a sidelong glance at Arkady, who gave her a friendly smile, she went
gently away. She walked with a slightly rolling gait, but even that
suited her.

For some minutes silence reigned on the terrace. Pavel Petrovitch
sipped his cocoa; suddenly he raised his head. 'Here is Sir Nihilist
coming towards us,' he said in an undertone.

Bazarov was in fact approaching through the garden, stepping over the
flower-beds. His linen coat and trousers were besmeared with mud;
clinging marsh weed was twined round the crown of his old round hat; in
his right hand he held a small bag; in the bag something alive was
moving. He quickly drew near the terrace, and said with a nod, 'Good
morning, gentlemen; sorry I was late for tea; I'll be back directly; I
must just put these captives away.'

'What have you there--leeches?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.

'No, frogs.'

'Do you eat them--or keep them?'

'For experiment,' said Bazarov indifferently, and he went off into the
house.

'So he's going to cut them up,' observed Pavel Petrovitch. 'He has no
faith in principles, but he has faith in frogs.'

Arkady looked compassionately at his uncle; Nikolai Petrovitch shrugged
his shoulders stealthily. Pavel Petrovitch himself felt that his
epigram was unsuccessful, and began to talk about husbandry and the new
bailiff, who had come to him the evening before to complain that a
labourer, Foma, 'was deboshed,' and quite unmanageable. 'He's such an
Aesop,' he said among other things; 'in all places he has protested
himself a worthless fellow; he's not a man to keep his place; he'll
walk off in a huff like a fool.'

CHAPTER VI

Bazarov came back, sat down to the t