The boy quickly recovered himself and read the prayer.
“Sit down, children,” ordered Doulebov.
The children resumed their places, while the elders seated themselves at a table in the order of their rank—the Vice-Governor and Doulebov in the middle, with the others to their right and left. Doulebova looked round with an anxious, angry expression. At last she said in a bass voice, extraordinarily coarse for a woman:
“Shut the windows. The birds are making a noise, and the wind too; it is impossible to do anything.”
Trirodov looked at her in astonishment. He said quietly to Nadezhda:
“Close the windows. Our guests can’t stand fresh air.”
The windows were shut. The children looked with melancholy tedium at the depressing window-panes.
Writing exercises were given. A little tale was read aloud from a reader brought by Shabalov. Doulebov asked the class to compose it in their own words.
The boys and girls were about to pick up their pens, but Doulebov stopped them and delivered a long and tedious dissertation on how to write the given composition. Then he said:
“Now you can write it.”