Pavel Afanasievitch broke loose, pushed Efimovna away, snatched up the sword, and rushed through another door into the garden.
Vassily dashed after him. They ran into a wooden summerhouse, painted cunningly after the Chinese fashion, shut themselves in, and drew their swords. Rogatchov had once taken lessons in fencing, but now he was scarcely capable of drawing a sword properly. The blades crossed. Vassily was obviously playing with Rogatchov's sword. Pavel Afanasievitch was breathless and pale, and gazed in consternation into Lutchinov's face.
Meanwhile, screams were heard in the garden; a crowd of people were running to the summerhouse. Suddenly Rogatchov heard the heart-rending wail of old age...he recognised the voice of his father. Afanasey Lukitch, bare-headed, with dishevelled hair, was running in front of them all, frantically waving his hands....
With a violent and unexpected turn of the blade Vassily sent the sword flying out of Pavel Afanasievitch's hand.
'Marry her, my boy,' he said to him: 'give over this foolery!'
'I won't marry her,' whispered Rogatchov, and he shut his eyes, and shook all over.
Afanasey Lukitch began banging at the door of the summerhouse.
'You won't?' shouted Vassily.
Rogatchov shook his head.
'Well, damn you, then!'