Onisim arrived home. His master was lying on his bed, gazing at the ceiling.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Where have I been?’ ... (Onisim had the habit of repeating reproachfully the last words of every question.) ‘I’ve been about your business.’
‘What business?’
‘Why, don’t you know? ... I’ve been to see Vassilissa.’
Pyetushkov blinked and turned over on his bed.
‘So that’s how it is,’ observed Onisim, and he coolly took a pinch of snuff. ‘So that’s how it is. You’re always like that. Vassilissa sends you her duty.’
‘Really?’
‘Really? So that’s all about it. Really! ... She told me to say, Why is it, says she, one never sees him? Why is it, says she, he never comes?’
‘Well, and what did you say?’