And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he
asks:

"What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose
daughter plays on the piano?"

That is all that can be said about him.

And the Turkins? Ivan Petrovitch has grown no older; he is not
changed in the least, and still makes jokes and tells anecdotes as
of old. Vera Iosifovna still reads her novels aloud to her visitors
with eagerness and touching simplicity. And Kitten plays the piano
for four hours every day. She has grown visibly older, is constantly
ailing, and every autumn goes to the Crimea with her mother. When
Ivan Petrovitch sees them off at the station, he wipes his tears
as the train starts, and shouts:

"Good-bye, if you please."

And he waves his handkerchief.


THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY

IT is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-bout
when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepanitch
Zhilin wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind. He looks
sour, rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression of displeasure
on his grey face, as though he were offended or disgusted by
something. He dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water deliberately,