He thought that every house here had its dead. And that all who lived in the old houses fifty years ago were now dead. Some of the dead he still remembered.
When a man dies his house should be burnt afterwards, thought Peredonov dejectedly, because it makes one feel horribly.
Olga Vassilyevna Kokovkina, with whom Sasha Pilnikov lived, was a paymaster's widow. Her husband had left her a pension and a small house, which was sufficiently large to accommodate two or three lodgers, but she gave preference to students. It so happened that the quietest boys were always placed at her house, those who studied diligently and completed their courses. At other students' lodgings there were a considerable number of boys who went from one school to another and always left their studies unfinished.
Olga Vassilyevna, a lean, tall and erect old woman with a good-natured face, to which, however, she tried to give a stern expression; and Sasha Pilnikov, a well-fed youngster, carefully trained by his aunt, sat at the supper table. That evening it was Sasha's turn to supply the jam, which he had bought in the village, and therefore he felt as if he were the host and ceremoniously attended to Olga Vassilyevna, and his black eyes shone brightly. A ring at the door was heard—and a moment afterwards Peredonov appeared in the dining-room. Kokovkina was astonished at such a late visit.
"I've come to take a look at our pupil," he said, "and to see how he lives."
Kokovkina asked Peredonov to take some refreshment, but he refused. He wanted them to finish their supper, so that he could be alone with his pupil. They finished their supper and went into Sasha's room, but Kokovkina did not leave them and talked incessantly. Peredonov looked morosely at Sasha, who was timidly silent.
"Nothing will come of this visit," thought Peredonov with annoyance.
The maid-servant for some reason or other called out for Kokovkina. Sasha looked dejectedly after her. His eyes grew dull, they were covered by his eyelashes—and it seemed that these eyelashes, which were very long, threw a shadow on his smooth and suddenly pallid face. He felt uneasy in the presence of this morose man. Peredonov sat down beside him, put his arm awkwardly around him and without altering the immobile expression on his face asked:
"Well, Sashenka, has the little girl said her prayers yet?"