"That was an insult to you," said Peredonov.
"But you must know," interrupted Volodin, eagerly. "There's an ikon in our room, and we had our hats off. And he suddenly appears like a Mohammedan dog. And I up and said to him quietly, and with great dignity: 'Your Excellency,' I say to him, 'Will you be good enough to take your hat off, because,' I say to him, 'there's an ikon in the room.' Now, was that the right thing to say?" asked Volodin, opening his eyes, questioningly.
"That was clever, Pavloushka," shouted Peredonov. "He got what he deserved."
"Yes, that was quite proper," chimed in Varvara. "People like that shouldn't be let off. You're a smart young fellow, Pavel Vassilyevitch."
Volodin, with an air of injured innocence, went on:
"And then he says to me: 'Each to his trade.' Then he turns and goes out. That's all there was to it and nothing else."
Volodin nevertheless felt himself a hero. Peredonov, to mollify him, gave him a caramel.
A new visitor arrived—Sofya Efimovna Prepolovenskaya, the wife of the forester, a fat woman, with a face half good-natured, half cunning—brisk in her movements. She sat down at the table and asked Volodin slyly:
"Pavel Vassilyevitch, why do you come so often to visit Varvara Dmitrievna?"
"I don't come to visit Varvara Dmitrievna," answered Volodin bashfully, "but to see Ardalyon Borisitch."