The old man had cocked his head with a knowing air.
"Evgenii Vasilitch, why should they not be expecting you? Yes, as God is my trust, I know that their hearts are simply aching for a sight of you."
"Well, well! Do not make too long a stay of it, but tell them that I will come presently."
"I will, batiushka."
Yet it had been with a sigh that Timotheitch had replaced his cap on his head with both hands, left the house, remounted the shabby drozhki which he had left waiting at the gates, and disappeared at a trot—though not in the direction of the town.
The same evening saw Madame sitting in her boudoir with Bazarov, and Arkady pacing the salon, and listening to Katia's music. As for the Princess, she had gone to bed, for she could not abide the presence of guests—least of all, of "those upstarts and good-for-nothings" as she termed our friends. In fact, though she confined herself, in the drawing-room or the dining-room, to sulking, she resorted, when alone with her maid in the bedroom, to abuse of Arkady and Bazarov which made her cap and her false front fairly dance on her head. These things, of course, Madame Odintsov knew.
"Why need you depart?" she said to Bazarov. "Have you forgotten your promise?"
Bazarov started.
"What promise?" he asked.
"Then you have forgotten it! I mean the promise to give me a few lessons in chemistry?"