"What a pity it is to think that you are always at loggerheads with one another! Can't you alter things?" the "Little Russian" would begin again.
"That's our business," replied Orloff's wife shortly.
"Of course it is! Of course it's your business..." agreed Lewtschenko, nodding his head to show that he was entirely at one with her on this point.
"What are you driving at?" continued Matrona in an angry voice.
"La! la! la! What a bad temper you are in! You won't let one say a word to you! Whenever I see you and Grischka, I say to myself, what a pair they are! They worry each other like two dogs! You ought both to be beaten twice a day, morning and evening—then perhaps the desire for quarrelling would be knocked out of you." And he went away angrily and Matrona was glad; for several times there had been whisperings and gossipings in die court, caused by Lewtschenko's attempts to be friendly; so she was vexed with him, as she was with everybody who mixed themselves up with her affairs.
Lewtschenko, in spite of his forty years, walked with a soldierly stride to a corner of the yard, when suddenly Tschischik, the painter's apprentice, ran like a ball between his legs.
"That was a nasty one she gave you, little uncle!" he whispered with a precocious air to the non-commissioned officer, winking cunningly in the direction of Matrona.
"You'll get something nasty from me, if you don't look out! do you understand!" the "Little Russian" threatened him, though he was really laughing behind his moustache. He liked the lively little lad, who knew all the secrets of the court, and he really enjoyed having a gossip with him.
"There is nothing to be done with her," continued Senka, without paying any attention to Lewtschenko's threat, and going on with his revelations. "Maximka, the painter, has also tried—but what did he get for his pains?... a box on the ear!... I saw it myself...."
The, but half grown, lively little lad of twelve absorbed greedily all the filth and evil with which his life was surrounded, just as a sponge absorbs the water in which it lies; and the delicate wrinkles on his forehead showed that Senka Tschischik had already begun to think.