“The same thing that would become of all the other animals, they would go free.”
“I see—yes. But, listen, if they were not killed, they would multiply, you know, and then it would be good-by to our meadows and vegetable gardens! Why, if a pig is turned loose and not watched, it will ruin everything for you in a day! A pig is a pig, and hasn’t been called one for nothing!”
They finished their supper. Jmukin rose from the table, and walked up and down the room for a long time, talking interminably. He loved to think of and discuss deep and serious subjects, and was longing to discover some theory that would sustain him in his old age, so that he might find peace of mind, and not think it so terrible to die. He desired for himself the same gentleness and self-confidence and peace of mind which he saw in this guest of his, who had just eaten his fill of cucumbers and bread, and was a better man for it, sitting there on a bench so healthy and fat, patiently bored, looking like a huge heathen idol that nothing could move from his seat.
“If a man can only find some idea to hold to in life, he will be happy,” Jmukin thought.
The old Cossack went out on the front steps, and the attorney could hear him sighing and repeating to himself:
“Yes—I see——”
Night was falling, and the stars were shining out one by one. The lamps in the house had not been lit. Some one came creeping toward the drawing-room as silently as a shadow, and stopped in the doorway. It was Lyuboff, Jmukin’s wife.
“Have you come from the city?” she asked timidly, without looking at her guest.
“Yes, I live in the city.”
“Maybe you know about schools, master, and can tell us what to do if you will be so kind. We need advice.”