“Well—well.”
Gerasim took leave, crossing the yard to go out by the gate. Polikarpych’s rooms gave on the yard, and a broad beam of light from the window fell across Gerasim’s way. He was curious to get a glimpse of his future home, but the panes were all frosted over, and it was impossible to peep through. However, he could hear what the people inside were saying.
“What will we do now?” was said in a woman’s voice.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” a man, undoubtedly Polikarpych, replied. “Go begging, I suppose.”
“That’s all we can do. There’s nothing else left,” said the woman. “Oh, we poor people, what a miserable life we lead. We work and work from early morning till late at night, day after day, and when we get old, then it’s, ‘Away with you!’”
“What can we do? Our master is not one of us. It wouldn’t be worth the while to say much to him about it. He cares only for his own advantage.”
“All the masters are so mean. They don’t think of any one but themselves. It doesn’t occur to them that we work for them honestly and faithfully for years, and use up our best strength in their service. They’re afraid to keep us a year longer, even though we’ve got all the strength we need to do their work. If we weren’t strong enough, we’d go of our own accord.”
“The master’s not so much to blame as his coachman. Yegor Danilych wants to get a good position for his friend.”
“Yes, he’s a serpent. He knows how to wag his tongue. You wait, you foul-mouthed beast, I’ll get even with you. I’ll go straight to the master and tell him how the fellow deceives him, how he steals the hay and fodder. I’ll put it down in writing, and he can convince himself how the fellow lies about us all.”
“Don’t, old woman. Don’t sin.”