He was very much laughed at for this, until a certain learned Frenchman told him that it was an old parliamentary expression employed in his country until the year 1789.

As the conversation turned upon France and the French, Fimishka resolved to ask something that had been very much on her mind. She first thought of addressing herself to Markelov, but he looked too forbidding, so she turned to Solomin, but no! He seemed to her such a plain sort of person, not likely to know French at all, so she turned to Nejdanov.

"I should like to ask you something, if I may," she began; "excuse me, my kinsman Sila Samsonitch makes fun of me and my woman's ignorance."

"What is it?"

"Supposing one wants to ask in French, 'What is it?' must one say 'Kese-kese-kese-la?'"

"Yes."

"And can one also say 'Kese-kese-la?'

"Yes."

"And simply 'Kese-la?'"

"Yes, that's right."

"And does it mean the same thing?"

"Yes, it does."

Fimishka thought awhile, then threw up her arms.

"Well, Silushka," she exclaimed; "I am wrong and you are right. But these Frenchmen... How smart they are!"

Paklin began begging the old people to sing them some ballad. They were both surprised and amused at the idea, but consented readily on condition that Snandulia accompanied them on the harpsichord. In a corner of the room there stood a little spinet, which not one of them had noticed before. Snandulia sat down to it and struck several chords.

Nejdanov had never heard such sour, toneless, tingling, jangling notes, but the old people promptly struck up the ballad, "Was it to Mourn."

Fomisha began--

"In love G.o.d gave a heart Of burning pa.s.sion to inspire That loving heart with warm desire."

"But there is agony in bliss"

Fimishka chimed in.

"And pa.s.sion free from pain there is, Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,"

"Ah! where, where? Tell me, tell me this,"

Fomisha put in.

"Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,"

Fimishka repeated.

"Nowhere in all the world, nowhere, Love bringeth grief and black despair,"

they sang together,

"And that, love's gift is everywhere,"

Fomisha sang out alone.

"Bravo!" Paklin exclaimed. "We have had the first verse, now please sing us the second."

"With the greatest of pleasure," Fomishka said, "but what about the trill, Snandulia Samsonovna? After my verse there must be a trill."

"Very well, I will play your trill," Snandulia replied. Fomishka began again--

"Has ever lover loved true And kept his heart from grief and rue?

He loveth but to weep anew"

and then Fimishka--

"Yea--hearts that love at last are riven As ships that hopelessly have striven For life. To what end were they given?"

"To what end were they given?"

Fomishka warbled out and waited for Snandulia to play the trill.

"To what end were they given?"

he repeated, and then they struck up together--

"Then take, Oh G.o.d, the heart away, Away, away, take hearts away, Away, away, away today."

"Bravo! Bravo!" the company exclaimed, all with exception of Markelov.

"I wonder they don't feel like clowns?" Nejdanov thought. "Perhaps they do, who knows? They no doubt think there is no harm in it and may be even amusing to some people. If one looks at it in that light, they are quite right! A thousand times right!"

Under the influence of these reflections he began paying compliments to the host and hostess, which they acknowledged with a courtesy, performed while sitting in their chairs. At this moment Pufka the dwarf and Nurse Va.s.silievna made their appearance from the adjoining room (a bedroom or perhaps the maids' room) from whence a great bustle and whispering had been going on for some time. Pufka began squealing and making hideous grimaces, while the nurse first quietened her, then egged her on.

Solomin's habitual smile became even broader, while Markelov, who had been for some time showing signs of impatience, suddenly turned to Fomishka:

"I did not expect that you," he began in his severe manner, "with your enlightened mind--I've heard that you are a follower of Voltaire--could be amused with what ought to be an object for compa.s.sion--with deformity!" Here he remembered Paklin's sister and could have bitten his tongue off.

Fomishka went red in the face and muttered: "You see it is not my fault... she herself--"

Pufka simply flew at Markelov.

"How dare you insult our masters?" she screamed out in her lisping voice. "What is it to you that they took me in, brought me up, and gave me meat and drink? Can't you bear to see another's good fortune, eh?

Who asked you to come here? You fusty, musty, black-faced villain with a moustache like a beetle's!" Here Pufka indicated with her thick short fingers what his moustache was like; while Nurse Va.s.silievna's toothless mouth was convulsed with laughter, re-echoed in the adjoining room.

"I am not in a position to judge you," Markelov went on. "To protect the homeless and deformed is a very praiseworthy work, but I must say that to live in ease and luxury, even though without injury to others, not lifting a finger to help a fellow-creature, does not require a great deal of goodness. I, for one, do not attach much importance to that sort of virtue!"

Here Pufka gave forth a deafening howl. She did not understand a word of what Markelov had said, but she felt that the "black one" was scolding, and how dared he! Va.s.silievna also muttered something, while Fomishka folded his hands across his breast and turned to his wife. "Fimishka, my darling," he began, almost in tears; "do you hear what the gentleman is saying? We are both wicked sinners, Pharisees.... We are living on the fat of the land, oh! oh! oh! We ought to be turned out into the street... with a broom in our hands to work for our living! Oh! oh!"