“What is agreed?” suddenly grumbled Tatiana Markovna. “You have accepted? Who told you you might accept? Grandmother will never permit you to live at a stranger’s expense. Be so kind, Boris Pavlovich, as to take over books, accounts, inventories and sales. I am not your paid servant.” She pushed papers and books towards him.
“Granny!”
“Granny! My name is Tatiana Markovna Berezhkov.” She stood up, and opened the door into the servants’ room. “Send Savili here.”
A quarter of an hour later, a peasant of almost forty-five years of age opened the door with a casual greeting. He was strongly-built, big boned, and was robust, without being fat. His eyes with their overhanging brows and wide heavy lids, wasted no idle glances; he neither spoke an unnecessary word, nor made a superfluous gesture.
“The proprietor is here,” said Tatiana Markovna, indicating Raisky. “You must now make your reports to him. He intends to administer the estate himself.”
Savili looked askance at Raisky.
“At your orders,” he said stiffly, slowly raising his eyes. “What orders are you pleased to give?” he asked, lowering his eyes again. Raisky thought for a moment before he replied:
“Do you know an official who could draw up a document for the transfer of the estate?”
“Gavril Ivanov Meshetshnikov draws up the papers we require,” he said.
“Send for him.”