“What sort of person is this Markushka. Leonti Koslov writes about him. How is Leonti, Granny? I must look him up.”
“How should he be? He crouches in one spot with a book, and his wife in another. But he does not even see what goes on under his nose, and can any good come from his friendship with this Markushka. Only the other day your friend came here to complain that that Markushka was destroying books from your library. You know, don’t you, that the library from the old house has been installed in Koslov’s house?”
Raisky hummed an air from “Il Barbiere.”
“You are an extraordinary man,” cried his aunt angrily. “Why did you come at all? Do talk sensibly.”
“I came to see you, Granny, to live here for a little while, to breathe freely, to look out over the Volga, to write, to draw....”
“But the estate? If you are not tired we will drive out into the field, to look at the sowing of the winter-corn.”
“Later on, Granny.”
“Will you take over the management of the estate?”
“No, Granny, I will not.” “Who then is to look after it? I am old and can no longer do all the work. Do you wish me to put the estate into strange hands?”
“Farm it yourself, Granny, so long as you take any pleasure in it.”