y.

"And then," continued Maria Dmitrievna, "how devoted he was to my dear
husband! Why, he can never think of him without emotion."

"He might well be that, considering that your husband pulled him out
of the mud by the ears," growled Marfa Timofeevna, the needles moving
quicker than ever under her fingers. "He looks so humble," she began
anew after a time. "His head is quite grey, and yet he never opens his
mouth but to lie or to slander. And, forsooth, he is a councillor of
state! Ah, well, to be sure, he is a priest's son."[A]

[Footnote A: _Popovich_, or son of a pope; a not over respectful
designation in Russia.]

"Who is there who is faultless, aunt? It is true that he has this
weakness. Sergius Petrovich has not had a good education, I admit--he
cannot speak French--but I beg leave to say that I think him
exceedingly agreeable."

"Oh, yes, he fawns on you like a dog. As to his not speaking French,
that's no great fault. I am not very strong in the French 'dialect'
myself. It would be better if he spoke no language at all; he wouldn't
tell lies then. But of course, here he is, in the very nick of time,"
continued Marfa Timofeevna, looking down the street. "Here comes
your agreeable man, striding along. How spindle-shanked he is, to be
sure--just like a stork!"

Maria Dmitrievna arranged her curls. Marfa Timofeevna looked at her
with a quiet smile.

"Isn't that a grey hair I see, my dear? You should scold Pelagia.
Where can her eyes be?"

"That's just like you, aunt," muttered Maria Dmitrievna, in a tone of
vexation, and thrumming with her fingers on the arm of her chair.

"Sergius Petrovich Gedeonovsky!" shrilly announced a rosy-cheeked
little Cossack,[A] who suddenly appeared at the door.

[Footnote A: A page attired in a sort of Cossack dress.]

II.

A tall man came into the room, wearing a good enough coat, rather
short trousers, thick grey gloves, and two cravats--a black one
outside, a white one underneath. Every thing belonging to him was
suggestive of propriety and decorum, from his well-proportioned face,
with locks carefully smoothed down over the temples, to his heelless
and never-creaking boots. He bowed first to the mistress of the house,
then to Marfa Timofeevna, and afterwards, having slowly taken off his
gloves, he approached Maria Dmitrievna and respectfully kissed her
hand twice. After that he leisurely subsided into an easy-chair, and
asked, as he smilingly rubbed togethe