Praskovia Ivanovna got out her reckoning beads, and began rattling the counters.
‘On the other hand,’ continued Pyetushkov, growing more and more agitated, ‘if Vassilissa were, for instance, to give an explanation of her behaviour ... possibly.... Though, of course ... I don’t know, possibly, I might perceive that after all there was no great matter for blame in it.’
‘There’s thirty-seven roubles and forty kopecks in notes to your account, sir,’ observed Praskovia Ivanovna. ‘Here, would you be pleased to go through it?’
Ivan Afanasiitch made no reply.
‘Eighteen dinners at seventy kopecks each; twelve roubles sixty kopecks.’
‘And so we are to part, Praskovia Ivanovna.’
‘If so it must be, sir. Things do turn out so. Twelve samovars at ten kopecks each ...’
‘But you might just tell me, Praskovia Ivanovna, where it was Vassilissa went, and what it was she ...’
‘Oh, I never asked her, sir.... One rouble twenty kopecks in silver.’
Ivan Afanasiitch sank into meditation.