. I am going to talk to him at
once--this minute! What is he, after all? What has he to be proud
of? No, indeed. . . . He has no reason to think so much of himself
. . . ."

Groholsky said a great many more valiant and stinging things, but
did not "go at once"; he felt timid and abashed. . . . He went to
Ivan Petrovitch three days later.

When he went into his apartment, he gaped with astonishment. He was
amazed at the wealth and luxury with which Bugrov had surrounded
himself. Velvet hangings, fearfully expensive chairs. . . . One was
positively ashamed to step on the carpet. Groholsky had seen many
rich men in his day, but he had never seen such frenzied luxury. . . .
And the higgledy-piggledy muddle he saw when, with an inexplicable
tremor, he walked into the drawing-room--plates with bits of bread
on them were lying about on the grand piano, a glass was standing
on a chair, under the table there was a basket with a filthy rag
in it. . . . Nut shells were strewn about in the windows. Bugrov
himself was not quite in his usual trim when Groholsky walked in
. . . . With a red face and uncombed locks he was pacing about the
room in deshabille, talking to himself, apparently much agitated.
Mishutka was sitting on the sofa there in the drawing-room, and was
making the air vibrate with a piercing scream.

"It's awful, Grigory Vassilyevitch!" Bugrov began on seeing Groholsky,
"such disorder . . . such disorder . . . Please sit down. You must
excuse my being in the costume of Adam and Eve. . . . It's of no
consequence. . . . Horrible disorderliness! I don't understand how
people can exist here, I don't understand it! The servants won't
do what they are told, the climate is horrible, everything is
expensive. . . . Stop your noise," Bugrov shouted, suddenly coming
to a halt before Mishutka; "stop it, I tell you! Little beast, won't
you stop it?"

And Bugrov pulled Mishutka's ear.

"That's revolting, Ivan Petrovitch," said Groholsky in a tearful
voice. "How can you treat a tiny child like that? You really are. . ."

"Let him stop yelling then. . . . Be quiet--I'll whip you!"

"Don't cry, Misha darling. . . . Papa won't touch you again. Don't
beat him, Ivan Petrovitch; why, he is hardly more than a baby. . . .
There, there. . . . Would you like a little horse? I'll send you
a little horse. . . . You really are hard-hearted. . . ."

Groholsky paused, and then asked:

"And how are your ladies getting on, Ivan Petrovitc