"Well, what are you crying at?" he said ill-temperedly. "I didn't shout at you, and you needn't go. I'll go, I must. Pavel will stay with you."
"Gavrilo! If Tatiana Vlassyevna——"
"Who's that?"
There was a knock at the door of the courtyard. Gavrik looked inquiringly at his master.
"Open," said Ilya.
Gavrik's sister appeared on the threshold. She stood without moving for a few seconds, as straight as a dart, her head drawn back, and looked at them all with screwed-up eyes. Then on her cold, ugly face appeared a grimace of disgust, and without noticing Ilya's bow, she said to her brother:
"Gavrik, come here a moment."
Ilya flared out. The blood rushed to his face at the insult with such force that his eyes burned.
"If you're saluted, madam, you might acknowledge it," he said emphatically, restraining himself as well as he could. But she held her head higher and her brows contracted. With lips close-pressed, she measured Ilya with her eyes, and said nothing. Gavrik also looked with anger at his master.
"You are not visiting drunkards or rascals," Ilya went on, quivering with his emotion. "You receive a respectful greeting, and as a well-mannered lady, you are bound to acknowledge it."