Peredonov did not reply. He looked gloomily about him, where, behind their drowsy little gardens and wavering hedges, loomed the dark shapes of a few scattered houses.
"You just wait at the gate," said Routilov persuasively, "I'll bring out the loveliest one—whichever one you like. Listen, I'll prove it to you. Twice two is four, isn't it?"
"Yes," assented Peredonov.
"Well, as twice two is four, so it's your duty to marry one of my sisters."
Peredonov was impressed. "It's quite true," he thought, "of course, twice two is four." And he looked respectfully at the shrewd Routilov. "Well, it'll come to marrying one of them. You can't argue with him."
The friends at that moment reached the Routilovs' house and stopped at the gate.
"Well, you can't do it by force," said Peredonov angrily.
"You're a queer fellow," exclaimed Routilov. "They've waited until they're tired."
"And perhaps I don't want to!" said Peredonov.
"What do you mean by that? You are a queer chap. Are you going to be a shiftless fellow all your life?" asked Routilov. "Or are you getting ready to enter a monastery? Or aren't you tired of Varya yet? Think what a face she'll make when you bring your young wife home."