All the dishes were too salt, and blood oozed from the half-raw
chickens, and, to cap it all, plates and knives kept dropping out
of Pelageya's hands during dinner, as though from a shelf that had
given way; but no one said a word of blame to her, as they all
understood the state of her feelings. Only once papa flicked his
table-napkin angrily and said to mamma:

"What do you want to be getting them all married for? What business
is it of yours? Let them get married of themselves if they want
to."

After dinner, neighbouring cooks and maidservants kept flitting
into the kitchen, and there was the sound of whispering till late
evening. How they had scented out the matchmaking, God knows. When
Grisha woke in the night he heard his nurse and the cook whispering
together in the nursery. Nurse was talking persuasively, while the
cook alternately sobbed and giggled. When he fell asleep after this,
Grisha dreamed of Pelageya being carried off by Tchernomor and a
witch.

Next day there was a calm. The life of the kitchen went on its
accustomed way as though the cabman did not exist. Only from time
to time nurse put on her new shawl, assumed a solemn and austere
air, and went off somewhere for an hour or two, obviously to conduct
negotiations. . . . Pelageya did not see the cabman, and when his
name was mentioned she flushed up and cried:

"May he be thrice damned! As though I should be thinking of him!
Tfoo!"