One wall was covered with the skins of wild beasts. I recognized those of a black and of a brown bear. Above these were fastened enormous antlers. On their very numerous branches hung swords, daggers, and other arms. Pictures, one of which was that of an old lady plainly dressed (the Captain's mother), hung on the opposite wall.
Then my attention fastened itself on a big tiger skin covering a sofa. I touched the artificial eyes which looked so intently at me; I wondered if the teeth were real. So occupied did I become that it was like an electric shock to feel a sudden clap on my shoulder and the Captain's hearty voice greeting me.
I immediately experienced a strong desire to converse with him as I would with an older brother, but he had turned from me and was busy answering some of my father's numerous questions.
The bell rang again and admitted a new group. My aunt at once stepped up and threw her arms about one of the women in it, who proved to be her own cousin from the pretty neighboring city of Blagovestchensk. Closely following the cousin came her husband, a former artillery officer, with a very long beard. His thick, bushy gray hair framed a small sympathetic face. With them was a pale but very attractive lady dressed in a gray suit. A little girl of about my own age, had hold of her hand.
Mongalov greeted this lady with particular respect and gallantly kissed her hand. Then he invited all to take off their wraps and make themselves at home, that is, all but Nina, the little girl, and myself. He had beckoned to us to follow the orderly into the garden.
Here we found many things to interest us. There was a horse that refused sugar from Nina but accepted, to my great delight, bread and salt from me. There were fancy chickens, and, best of all, a sort of see-saw on which I condescended to accept Nina's invitation to play. We stood as straight as possible on the board which was balanced on a log, and as it went up and down jumped alternately into the air, each time going a little higher. Nina was not at all afraid, and despite a peculiar seriousness about her, we were well acquainted when supper was announced.
The table, set with more good things than I had ever seen before, was in a long dining-room. Soon everybody was laughing and joking, everybody except Nina's mother. It seemed to me that she was not like the rest of us but I could not have told why.
The supper lasted a long time and when we returned to the big living-room, the piano, which stood on one side, was opened and Lidia Ivanovna, the lady in gray, consented to play some Russian airs from Glinka's opera, "Life of the Tzar."
Shortly after, both she and her little daughter as well as my aunt's cousin left, pleading the weariness still felt by the strangers from long travel.
When they had gone, Mongalov turned to the former artillery officer, whose name was Kuzmin, and asked, "Where did you meet Lidia Ivanovna?"