“Why not?”
“She is despotic and censorious.”
“Yes, she is a despot,” answered Raisky. “That comes from intercourse with serfs. Old customs!”
“According to Tatiana Markovna,” continued Juliana Andreevna, “everybody should stay on one spot, turn his head neither to right nor left, and never exchange a word with his neighbours. She is a past mistress in fault-finding; nevertheless she and Tiet Nikonich are inseparable, he spends his days and nights with her.”
Raisky laughed and said, “She is a saint nevertheless, whatever you may find to say about her.”
“A saint perhaps, but nothing is right for her. Her world is in her two nieces, and who knows how they will turn out? Marfinka plays with her canaries and her flowers, and the other sits in the corner like the family ghost, and not a word can be got from her. We shall see what will become of her.”
“Veroshka? I haven’t seen her yet. She is away on a visit on the other side of the Volga.”
“And who knows what her business is there?”
“I love my Aunt as if she were my Mother,” said Raisky emphatically. “She is wise, honourable, just! She has strength and individuality, and there is nothing commonplace about her.”
“You will believe everything she says?” asked Juliana Andreevna, drawing him away to the window, while Leonti collected the scattered papers, laid them in cupboards and put the books on the shelves.