“And how many times do you say you have paced it?” she inquired of Vania.
He hesitated.
“Do not lie, but look me straight in the face,” she continued, fixing him with her gaze. “I have been watching you the whole time. Remember next Sunday. Possibly I might not let you go to the party that night.”
“Well, mother,” the boy said at length, “we have paced the path only twelve times.”
“Ah, you rogue!” exclaimed Oblomov. “You were nipping off acacia-leaves all the time, whereas I was keeping the most careful account.”
“Then you must go and do some more walking,” decided the landlady. “Besides, the fish soup is not yet ready.” And she closed the door upon the pair.
Oblomov, much against his will, completed another eight pacings of the path, and then entered the dining-room. On the large round table the fish soup was now steaming, and all hastened to take their usual seats—Oblomov in solitary state on the sofa, the landlady on his right, and the rest in due sequence.
“I will help you to this herring, as it is the fattest,” said Agafia Matvievna.
“Very well,” he remarked. “Only, I think that a pie would go well with it.”
“Oh dear! I have forgotten the pies! I meant to make some last night, but my memory is all gone to pieces!” The artful Agafia Matvievna! “Besides, I am afraid that I have forgotten the cutlets and the cabbage. In fact, you must not expect very much of a dinner to-day.” This was addressed ostensibly to Alexiev.