“Why, the same things you wore to-day, sir.”
“Thou hast aged me, malefactor, aged me. I was almost beside myself with the heat to-day, as it was. Hold the candle in front of thy breast, I tell thee, and don’t sleep when thy master is talking to thee.”
“Well, but Matryóna Márkovna said, sir, ‘That’s enough. Why do you always take such a mass of things with you? They only get worn out for nothing.’”
“Matryóna Márkovna.... Is it a woman’s business, pray, to enter into that? You have aged me. Okh, you have made me old before my time!”
“Yes; and Yakhím said the same thing, sir.”
“What’s that thou saidst?”
“I say, Yakhím said the same thing, sir.”
“Yakhím! Yakhím!”—repeated Egór Kapítonitch, reproachfully.—“Ekh, you have aged me, ye accursed, and don’t even know how to speak Russian intelligibly. Yakhím! Who’s Yakhím! Efrím,—well, that might be allowed to pass, it is permissible to say that; because the genuine Greek name is Evthímius, dost understand me?... Hold the candle in front of thy breast.... So, for the sake of brevity, thou mayest say Efrím, if thou wilt, but not Yakhím by any manner of means. Yákhim!”[22] added Egór Kapítonitch, emphasising the syllable Ya.—“You have aged me, ye malefactors. Hold the candle in front of thy breast!”
And for a long time, Egór Kapítonitch continued to berate his servant, in spite of sighs, coughs, and other tokens of impatience on the part of Vladímir Sergyéitch....
At last he dismissed his Mítka, and fell asleep; but Vladímir Sergyéitch was no better off for that: Egór Kapítonitch snored so mightily and in so deep a voice, with such playful transitions from high tones to the very lowest, with such accompanying whistlings, and even snappings, that it seemed as though the very partition were shaking in response to him; poor Vladímir Sergyéitch almost wept. It was very stifling in the chamber which had been allotted to him, and the feather-bed whereon he was lying embraced his whole body in a sort of crawling heat.