Shocks of such a kind, however, were bound, in time, to react upon their friendship.
"As I look at you, young gentlemen," Vasili Ivanitch continued as, nodding his head, he rested his hands upon a crooked stick, his own manufacture, which had a Turk's head for a handle, "I cannot sufficiently admire you. What strength you embody! How you speak of the flower of youth, of capacity, and of talent! You resemble Castor and Pollux themselves."
"To think of your flaunting your mythology like that!" said Bazarov. "At the same time, you must have been a fine Latin scholar in your day. In fact, did not you once receive a silver medal for an essay?"
"The Dioscuri, the Dioscuri themselves!" continued the old man ecstatically.
"Come, come, father! Do not play the fool,"
"Ah, well! No, I have not sought you out to pay you compliments: I have come to inform the pair of you that dinner is nearly ready, and also to give you, Evgenii, a warning. I know that, as a man of sense, as well as a man well versed in the world, you will be charitable. The case is this. This morning your mother took it into her head to organise a thanksgiving ceremony on the occasion of your return.—No, do not think that I am inviting you to the ceremony: on the contrary, it is over. All that I am going to say is that Father Alexis——"
"The priest?"
"Yes, and our private confessor. Well, this Father Alexis is going to dine with us, even though I had not expected it, and it was not my suggestion, but merely an arrangement which has come about somehow—probably through his having failed to understand me aright. Not that we look upon him as anything but a man of rectitude and good sense."
"Surely you do not mean to imply that he is likely to devour my portion of the food, do you?"
Vasili Ivanitch burst out laughing.