They seated themselves in a drozhky and were driven to the house where Klavdia was servant-maid, in order to make inquiries about her. The streets were dirty almost everywhere although it had rained only the day before. The drozhky no sooner rattled on to a solid paved part of the road than it plunged again into the clinging mud of the unpaved sections. But, by way of compensation, Varvara's voice rattled on continuously, now and then accompanied by Grushina's sympathetic chatter.
"My goose has been to Marfushka's again," said Varvara.
Grushina answered in a sympathetic outburst: "That's how they're trying to catch him. And why not, he'd be a great catch, especially for Marfushka. She never dreamt of anyone like him."
"Really, I don't know what to do," confessed Varvara. "He's become so obstinate lately—it's simply awful. Believe me, my head's in a constant whirl. He'll really marry and then there's nothing for me but the streets."
"Don't worry, darling Varvara," said Grushina consolingly. "Don't think about it. He'll never marry anyone but you. He's used to you."
"He sometimes goes off in the evening, and I can't get to sleep afterwards," said Varvara. "Who knows? Perhaps he's courting some girl. Sometimes I toss about all night. Everyone has her eye on him—even those three Routilov mares of women—but of course they'd hang around any man's neck. And that fat Zhenka's after him too."
Varvara went on complaining for a long time, and all her conversation led Grushina to think that Varvara had some favour to ask of her, and she was gratified at the prospect of a reward.
Klavdia pleased Varvara. The excise officer's wife strongly recommended her. They engaged her and told her to come that evening, as the excise officer was leaving at once.
At last they came to Grushina's house. Grushina lived in her own house in a slovenly enough fashion. The three children were bedraggled, dirty, stupid and malicious, like dogs that have just come out of water.
Their confidences were just beginning.