"And there was another doctor who came to visit a patient in this neighbourhood," continued Vasili Ivanitch in a tone of mock despair. "But by the time he arrived the patient had already joined his forefathers, and the servant of the house would not admit the doctor, saying that the latter's services were no longer required. This the doctor had scarcely expected, and he was rather taken aback. 'Did the barin gasp before he died?' he inquired. 'He did, sir,' was the reply. 'Very much?' 'Yes, very much.' 'Good!—And the doctor returned home. Ha, ha, ha!"
Yet no one laughed except the old man himself. True, Arkady contrived to summon up a smile, but Bazarov only stretched himself and yawned. The conversation lasted about an hour, and then Arkady managed to get away to his room, which he found to consist of the vestibule to the bathroom, but at the same time to be clean and inviting. Soon afterwards Taniushka arrived to announce dinner.
The meal, though hastily prepared, was excellent, and even sumptuous. Only the wine proved to be rather of the "gooseberry" order—the dark-coloured sherry procured by Timotheitch from a certain wine merchant in the town smacking in equal parts of resin and of honey. Also, in addition, the flies made themselves a nuisance, owing to the fact that the page boy whose duty it was to keep them at bay with a green whisk had, for the nonce, been banished, lest he should excite too much comment on the part of the up-to-date visitors. Lastly, Arina Vlasievna had robed herself in gala attire—that is to say, in a high-peaked cap with yellow ribands and a blue, embroidered shawl. She burst into renewed weeping on beholding her beloved Eniusha, but, this time, gave her husband no occasion to chide her, so speedily did her own fear of staining her shawl cause her to wipe away the tears. None but the two young men ate anything, for the host and hostess had long ago dined; while as waiters there officiated Thedika (much burdened with the novelty of wearing shoes) and a woman of a masculine type of face, and with a hump on her back, who was also accustomed to execute the functions of housekeeper, keeper of the poultry, and sempstress. During the meal Vasili Ivanitch paced to and fro, and discussed, in cheerful, and even rapturous, terms, the grave fears which Napoleon's[8] policy and the intricacy of the Italian question inspired in his breast. Arina Vlasievna, for her part, quite disregarded Arkady, and offered him not a single dish, but, seated with her hand supporting her face (to which a pair of puffy, cherry-coloured lips and a few moles communicated a kindly expression), kept her eyes fixed upon her son, while her breath came in a succession of pants. Her great desire was to ask her son how long he was going to stay, but she dared not do so for fear he should reply: "Only for two days," or something of the kind—which was a prospect of a nature to make her heart die within her. On the roast being served, Vasili Ivanitch disappeared, and returned, the next moment, with an uncorked bottle of champagne.
"See here," he exclaimed. "Rustic though we may be, we still keep something to make merry with on state occasions."
That said, he filled three tumblers and a wine-glass, proposed a health to "our inestimable guests," heel-tapped his glass in the military fashion, and forced his wife to drain hers to the dregs. Presently the pastry course supervened; during which, though Arkady could not bear anything sweet, he deemed it his duty to partake of no less than four out of the many confections which had been prepared for his benefit. And this obligation he felt to be the more binding in that Bazarov bluntly declined all, and lit a cigar. Lastly there appeared tea, cream, biscuits, and butter; after which Vasili Ivanitch conducted the party into the garden, in order that the guests might admire the beauty of the evening. As he passed a certain bench he whispered in Arkady's ear:
"This is where I love to sit and meditate as I watch the sun sinking. It is just the spot for a hermit like myself. And, further on, I have planted a few of Horace's favourite trees."
"What trees?" asked Bazarov, who had partially overheard.
"Acacia trees."
The other yawned, and, on observing this, Vasili Ivanitch hastened to say:
"I expect that you travellers would like now to seek the arms of Morpheus?"