Returning to the dining-room, Gavril Afanassievitch seemed much troubled; angrily bade the servants clear the table, sent Natasha to her apartments, and informed his sister and father-in-law that he must talk with them. He led them into the bedroom, where he usually took his after-dinner nap. The old Prince lay down upon the oak bed; Tatiana Afanassievna sat down upon the ancient damask easy chair, and drew the footstool towards her; Gavril Afanassievitch locked all the doors and sat down at Prince Lykoffs feet. In a low voice he began:
"The Tzar had a reason for coming here to-day. Guess what it was."
"How can we know, dear brother?" replied Tatiana Afanassievna.
"Has he commanded you to a voievod?" asked his father-in-law. It is time he did so long ago. Or he has proposed a mission to you? Why not? Not always clerks. Important people are sometimes sent to foreign monarchs.
"No," replied his son-in-law, scowling. "I am a man of the old pattern; our services are not required in the present day, though perhaps an Orthodox Russian nobleman is superior to modern upstarts, pancake hawkers, and Mussulmen. But that is a different matter."
"Then what was it, brother?" asked Tatiana Afanassievna crossing, herself.
"The maiden is ready for marriage, the bridegroom must be in keeping with the proposer. God grant them love and discretion; of honour there is plenty."
"On whose behalf then does the Tzar propose?"
"Hum, whose? indeed!" exclaimed Gavril Afanassievitch. "Whose! That is just the point."
"Whose?" repeated Prince Lykoff half dozing already.