"Akh!"—cried all the dependents with one accord:—"She didn't bite you, did she? God forbid!" (Mumú had never bitten any one in her life.) "Akh! akh!"
"Take her away,"—said the old woman, in an altered voice,—"the horrid little dog! What a vicious beast she is!"
And slowly turning, she went toward her boudoir. The dependents exchanged timorous glances and started to follow her, but she paused, looked coldly at them, said: "Why do you do that? for I have not bidden you," and left the room.
The dependents waved their hands in despair at Stepán; the latter picked up Mumú and flung her out into the yard as speedily as possible, straight at Gerásim's feet; and half an hour later a profound stillness reigned in the house, and the old gentlewoman sat on her divan more lowering than a thunder-cloud.
What trifles, when one comes to think of it, can sometimes put a person out of tune!
The lady was out of sorts until evening, talked with no one, did not play cards, and passed a bad night. She took it into her head that they had not given her the same eau de cologne which they usually gave her, that her pillow smelled of soap, and made the keeper of the linen-closet smell all the bed-linen twice,—in a word, she was upset and extremely incensed. On the following morning she ordered Gavríla to be summoned to her presence an hour earlier than usual.
"Tell me, please,"—she began, as soon as the latter, not without some inward quaking, had crossed the threshold of her boudoir,—"why that dog was barking in our courtyard all night long? It prevented my getting to sleep!"
"A dog, ma'am .... which one, ma'am?... Perhaps it was the dumb man's dog,"—he uttered in a voice that was not altogether firm.
"I don't know whether it belongs to the dumb man or to some one else, only it interfered with my sleep. And I am amazed that there is such a horde of dogs! I want to know about it. We have a watch-dog, have we not?"
"Yes, ma'am, we have, ma'am, Peg-top, ma'am."