Nikolai is silent.
After a while Lensky begins anew.
"Yes, yes, I am very glad that things went well with the little one. I was worried. No one can less easily bear loveless treatment than our kobold."
Nikolai looks straight in his father's eyes.
"Do you imagine that Aunt Barbara will treat her lovingly?" he asks, dryly.
"Well, you said--" says Lensky.
"I said that she received our Mascha graciously, voilà tout!" says Nikolai. "Her manner to the child did not please me. As the Countess d'Olbreuse insisted upon pleading Mascha's cause, and as she is, as Aunt Barbara informed me later, in spite of her apparent eccentricities, very well accredited in the Faubourg St. Germain, the warmth with which she defended Mascha may have made some impression. In any case, aunt pleased herself with laughing at Mascha's exaltation. She and her lovable daughter were about to go out, and it was arranged that I should accompany them, but I would have preferred to remain with Mascha to lecture her a little as she deserved for her over-haste."
Lensky frowned. "So you would have liked to scold the poor child! What a narrow-hearted philister you are; have copied in everything your distinguished uncle, the correct statesman, under whose protection you are making a career, he who tore us apart--your mother and me. Poor little Mascha! Poor little dove! But she was charming with her foolish, childish anxiety and her incredible innocence." Lensky struck his fist on the table. "I would have liked to box their ears, all of them, as they sat there, the scoundrels who dared to wink at her tale," called he.
"So should I, father, but still they did all wink," said Nikolai, dryly.
"The idiots!"