But Gavrik had a character quite his own. While he listened to her flood of comments he preserved a complete indifference. Especially when she was rummaging about among the upper shelves, and holding up her skirts, Gavrik would look mischievously at his master. When he addressed her it was roughly and without any sign of respect, and when she departed he would remark: "There goes the plover at last."
"You mustn't speak of your mistress like that," said Ilya, trying to hide a smile.
"What sort of a mistress is she?" answered Gavrik. "She comes here and chatters, and hops off again! You—are the master."
"She is, too," said Ilya feebly, for he liked the honourable, high-spirited lad.
"Ah; she's a plover," insisted Gavrik.
"You teach that youngster nothing," said Madame Avtonomov to Ilya on another occasion. "And I must say, frankly, that lately everything seems carried on without enthusiasm, with no love for the work."
Lunev said nothing, but in his soul he hated her so that he thought:
"I wish to goodness, you she-devil, you'd break your leg; coming skipping about here."
One day he received a letter from his uncle, and learnt that Terenti had not only been to Kiev, but also the Sergius Monastery and in Valvam. He had nearly gone to Solovky, on the Dvina, but had abandoned that pilgrimage, and expected soon to reach home again.
"Another joy," thought Ilya bitterly. "He'll come here to live for certain."