to ache. Where is Zoya, do you know?'

'I think she's upstairs in her room. The wise little fox always hides
in her hole when there's a storm in the air.'

'Come, please, please!' Anna Vassilyevna began searching about her.
'Haven't you seen my little glass of grated horse-radish? Paul, be so
good as not to make me angry for the future.'

'How make you angry, auntie? Give me your little hand to kiss. Your
horse-radish I saw on the little table in the boudoir.'

'Darya always leaves it about somewhere,' said Anna Vassilyevna, and
she walked away with a rustle of silk skirts.

Shubin was about to follow her, but he stopped on hearing Uvar
Ivanovitch's drawling voice behind him.

'I would . . . have given it you . . . young puppy,' the retired
cornet brought out in gasps.

Shubin went up to him. 'And what have I done, then, most venerable
Uvar Ivanovitch?'

'How! you are young, be respectful. Yes indeed.'

'Respectful to whom?'

'To whom? You know whom. Ay, grin away.'