“And if I die?”
“Then leave everything as it is.”
Tatiana Markovna looked at the portrait of Raisky’s mother, for a long time she looked at the languishing eyes, the melancholy smile.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I honour the memory of the departed, but hers is the fault. She kept you by her side, talked to you, played the piano, read out of books and wept as she did so. And this is the result. Singing and painting. Now tell me, Borushka,” she went on in her ordinary tone, “what is to become of the house, of the linen, the silver, the diamonds? Shall you order them to be given to the peasants?”
“Do I possess diamonds and silver?”
“How often have I told you so? From your mother you have inherited all these things; what is to be done with them. I will show you the inventory of them.”
“Don’t do that, for Heaven’s sake. I can believe they are mine. And so I can dispose of them as I please?”
“Of course; you are the proprietor. We live here as your guests, though we do not eat your bread. See here are my receipts and expenditure,” she said, thrusting towards another big ledger which he waved away.
“But I believe all you say, Granny,” he said. “Send for a clerk and tell him to make out a deed, by which I give the house, the land, and all that belongs to it to my dear cousins, Veroshka and Marfinka, as dowry.” The old lady wrinkled her brow, and waited impatiently till he should finish speaking. “So long as you live, dear Granny,” he continued, “the estate naturally remains under your control; the peasants must have their freedom....”
“Never,” interrupted his aunt, “Veroshka and Marfinka are not beggars—each of them has her fifty thousand roubles—and after my death three times that sum, perhaps more. All I have is for my little girls, and, thank God, I am not a pauper. I have a corner of my own, a bit of land, and a roof to cover them. One would think you were a millionaire. You make gifts; you will have this, and you won’t have that. Here, Marfinka! where have you hidden yourself?”