"There! You see! I knew it! You understand nothing, mother! Nothing!"

"Well-well-all right! Do you feel- cold?"

"Cold!" Vasily answered bluntly, and again began to pace the room,
looking at his mother askance, as if annoyed.

"Perhaps you have caught cold?"

"Oh, mother what is a cold, when--" and he waved his hand helplessly.

The old woman was about to say: "And your father ordered wheat cakes
beginning with Monday," but she was frightened, and said:

"I told him: 'It is your son, you should go, give him your blessing.'
No, the old beast persisted--"

"Let him go to the devil! What sort of father has he been to me? He
has been a scoundrel all his life, and remains a scoundrel!"

"Vasenka! Do you speak of your father like this?" said the old woman
reproachfully, straightening herself.

"About my father!"

"About your own father?"

"He is no father to me!"