Julia Goudayevskaya was a tall, slim, bony woman, passionate and extremely sentimental, who, in spite of the disparity of their figures, resembled her husband in certain habits: she had the same impetuous and disproportionate movements, unlike those of other people. She was dressed youthfully and in colours, and whenever she made her quick movements the long variegated ribbons, with which she loved to adorn in abundance her dress and hair, flew in all directions.
Antosha, a slender, alert boy, bowed courteously. Peredonov was seated in the drawing-room and he immediately began to complain of Antosha: that he was lazy, inattentive, and did not listen in class but chattered and laughed, and was mischievous during recess. Antosha was astonished—he did not know that he was considered such a wicked boy—and he began to defend himself hotly. Both parents were annoyed.
"Will you be good enough to tell me," shouted the father, "in what precisely his mischievousness consists?"
"Nika, don't defend him," cried the mother. "He shouldn't get up to mischief."
"But what mischief has he done?" enquired the father, running, almost rolling on his short legs.
"He's generally mischievous. He raises a racket and he fights," said Peredonov morosely. "He's always in mischief."
"I don't fight at all," exclaimed Antosha dolefully. "Ask anyone you like. I haven't fought with anybody."
"He doesn't let anyone pass," said Peredonov.
"Very well, I'll go to the gymnasia myself and I'll ask the inspector," said Goudayevsky decisively.
"Nika, Nika, why don't you believe him?" cried Julia. "Would you like to see Antosha turn out a good-for-nothing? He needs a beating."