CHAPTER XVII
Vikentev kept his word, and on the very next day brought his mother to Tatiana Markovna, he himself taking refuge in his office, where he sat on pins and needles.
His mother, still a young woman, not much over forty, as gay and full of life as he himself was, had plenty of practical sense. They kept up between themselves a constant comic war of words; they were for ever disputing about trifles, but when it came to serious matters, she proclaimed her authority to him with quite another voice and another manner. And though he indeed usually began by protesting, he submitted to her will, if her request was reasonable. An unseen harmony underlay their visible strife.
That night, after Marfinka had left him, Vikentev had hurried to Kolchino. He rushed to his mother, threw his arms round her and kissed her. When, nearly smothered by his embrace, she thrust him from her, he fell on his knees and said solemnly: “Mother, strike me if you will, but listen. The supreme moment of my life has arrived. I have....”
“Gone mad,” she supplied, looking him up and down.
“I am going to be married,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“What? Mavra, Anton, Ivan, Kusma! Come here, quick!”
Mavra alone responded to the call.