w
at last took place between Stepan Trofimovitch and Varvara Petrovna. She
had long had this meeting in her mind, and had sent word about it to
her former friend, but for some reason she had kept putting it off till
then. It took place at Skvoreshniki; Varvara Petrovna arrived at her
country house all in a bustle; it had been definitely decided the
evening before that the fete was to take place at the marshal's, but
Varvara Petrovna's rapid brain at once grasped that no one could
prevent her from afterwards giving her own special entertainment at
Skvoreshniki, and again assembling the whole town. Then every one could
see for themselves whose house was best, and in which more taste was
displayed in receiving guests and giving a ball. Altogether she was
hardly to be recognised. She seemed completely transformed, and instead
of the unapproachable "noble lady" (Stepan Trofimovitch's expression)
seemed changed into the most commonplace, whimsical society woman. But
perhaps this may only have been on the surface.

When she reached the empty house she had gone through all the rooms,
accompanied by her faithful old butler, Alexey Yegorytch, and by
Fomushka, a man who had seen much of life and was a specialist in
decoration. They began to consult and deliberate: what furniture was to
be brought from the town house, what things, what pictures, where they
were to be put, how the conservatories and flowers could be put to
the best use, where to put new curtains, where to have the refreshment
rooms, whether one or two, and so on and so on. And, behold, in the
midst of this exciting bustle she suddenly took it into her head to send
for Stepan Trofimovitch.

The latter had long before received notice of this interview and was
prepared for it, and he had every day been expecting just such a sudden
summons. As he got into the carriage he crossed himself: his fate was
being decided. He found his friend in the big drawing-room on the little
sofa in the recess, before a little marble table with a pencil and paper
in her hands. Fomushka, with a yard measure, was measuring the height
of the galleries and the windows, while Varvara Petrovna herself was
writing down the numbers and making notes on the margin. She nodded in
Stepan Trofimovitch's direction without breaking off from what she was
doing, and when the latter muttered some sort of greeting, she hurriedly
gave him her hand, and without looking at him motioned him to a seat
beside he