"Well, God bless you! . . ." said Yegor Semyonitch, meditatively
stroking his grey whiskers. "God bless you! . . . I am delighted
about you . . . delighted, my boy. . . ."

But suddenly he listened, and, with a terrible face, ran off and
quickly disappeared behind the trees in a cloud of smoke.

"Who tied this horse to an apple-tree?" Kovrin heard his despairing,
heart-rending cry. "Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie
this horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God! They have ruined
everything; they have spoilt everything; they have done everything
filthy, horrible, and abominable. The orchard's done for, the
orchard's ruined. My God!"

When he came back to Kovrin, his face looked exhausted and mortified.

"What is one to do with these accursed people?" he said in a tearful
voice, flinging up his hands. "Styopka was carting dung at night,
and tied the horse to an apple-tree! He twisted the reins round it,
the rascal, as tightly as he could, so that the bark is rubbed off
in three places. What do you think of that! I spoke to him and he
stands like a post and only blinks his eyes. Hanging is too good
for him."

Growing calmer, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, God bless you! . . . God bless you! . . ." he muttered. "I
am very glad you have come. Unutterably glad. . . . Thank you."