the morning she made a decidedly agreeable impression on him. Matrona
Semyonovna garrulously praised and thanked Kolosov; Varvara sat silent,
pouring out the tea, glanced at him now and then, and with timid
shame-faced attentiveness handed him first a cup of tea, then the
cream, then the sugar-basin. Meanwhile the lieutenant waked up, loudly
called for his pipe, and after a short pause bawled: 'Sister! hi,
sister!' Matrona Semyonovna went to his bedroom. 'What about
that...what the devil's his name? is he gone?' 'No, I'm still here,'
answered Kolosov, going up to the door; 'are you better now?' 'Yes,'
answered the lieutenant; 'come in here, my good sir.' Kolosov went in.
Sidorenko looked at him, and reluctantly observed: 'Well, thanks; come
sometimes and see me--what's your name? who the devil's to know?'
'Kolosov,' answered Andrei. 'Well, well, come and see us; but it's no
use your sticking on here now, I daresay they're expecting you at
home.' Kolosov retreated, said good-bye to Matrona Semyonovna, bowed to
Varvara Ivanovna, and returned home. From that day he began to visit
Ivan Semyonitch, at first at long intervals, then more and more
frequently. The summer came on; he would sometimes take his gun, put on
his knapsack, and set off as if he were going shooting. He would go to
the retired lieutenant's, and stay on there till evening.

Varvara Ivanovna's father had served twenty-five years in the army, had
saved a small sum of money, and bought himself a few acres of land a
mile and a half from Moscow. He could scarcely read and write; but in
spite of his external clumsiness and coarseness, he was shrewd and
cunning, and even, on occasion, capable of sharp practice, like many
Little Russians. He was a fearful egoist, obstinate as an ox, and in
general exceedingly impolite, especially with strangers; I even
detected in him something like a contempt for the whole human race. He
indulged himself in every caprice, like a spoilt child; would know no