“Yes, grandmamma.”
“And is Másha pouring tea?”
“Yes, grandmamma, she is pouring tea.”
“And who else is there?”
“Iván Ílitch, and Egór Kapítonitch.”
“The husband of Matryóna Márkovna?”
“Yes, dear mother.”
The old woman mumbled with her lips.
“Well, good. But why is it, Mísha, that I can’t manage to get hold of the overseer? Order him to come to me very early to-morrow morning; I shall have a great deal of business to arrange with him. I see that nothing goes as it should with you, without me. Come, that will do, I am tired; take me away.... Farewell, bátiushka;[20] I don’t remember your name and patronymic,”—she added, addressing Vladímir Sergyéitch. “Pardon an old woman. But don’t come with me, grandchildren, it isn’t necessary. All you care for is to run all the time. Másha spoils you. Well, start on.”
The old woman’s head, which she had raised with difficulty, fell back again on her breast....