In the evening mamma went into the kitchen, while nurse and Pelageya
were zealously mincing something, and said:

"You can marry him, of course--that's your business--but I must
tell you, Pelageya, that he cannot live here. . . . You know I don't
like to have anyone sitting in the kitchen. Mind now, remember
. . . . And I can't let you sleep out."

"Goodness knows! What an idea, mistress!" shrieked the cook. "Why
do you keep throwing him up at me? Plague take him! He's a regular
curse, confound him! . . ."

Glancing one Sunday morning into the kitchen, Grisha was struck
dumb with amazement. The kitchen was crammed full of people. Here
were cooks from the whole courtyard, the porter, two policemen, a
non-commissioned officer with good-conduct stripes, and the boy
Filka. . . . This Filka was generally hanging about the laundry
playing with the dogs; now he was combed and washed, and was holding
an ikon in a tinfoil setting. Pelageya was standing in the middle
of the kitchen in a new cotton dress, with a flower on her head.
Beside her stood the cabman. The happy pair were red in the face
and perspiring and blinking with embarrassment.

"Well . . . I fancy it is time," said the non-commissioned officer,
after a prolonged silence.

Pelageya's face worked all over and she began blubbering. . . .

The soldier took a big loaf from the table, stood beside nurse, and