Leonti looked now at the books, now at Raisky, then made a gesture of refusal, and sighed.
“Do not laugh at me, Boris! Don’t tempt me.”
“I am not joking.”
Here Juliana Andreevna, who had heard the last words, chimed in with, “Take what is given you.”
“She is always like that,” sighed Leonti. “On feast days the tradesmen come with presents, and on the eve of the examinations the parents. I send them away, but my wife receives them at the side door. She looks like Lucretia, but she has a sweet tooth, a dainty one.”
Raisky laughed, but Juliana Andreevna was annoyed.
“Go to your Lucretia,” she said indifferently. “He compares me with everybody. One day I am Cleopatra, then Lavinia, then Cornelia. Better take the books when they are offered you. Boris Pavlovich will give them to me.”
“Don’t take it on yourself to ask him for gifts,” commanded Leonti. “And what can we give him? Shall I hand you over to him, for instance?” he added as he embraced her.
“Splendid! Take me, Boris Pavlovich,” she cried, throwing a sparkling glance at him.
“If you don’t take the books, Leonti,” said Raisky, “I will make them over to the Gymnasium. Give me the catalogue, and I’ll send it to the Director to-morrow.”