“And how nice your sister Katerina Fedoseevna is!” Velchaninov suddenly said to Nadya on the quiet.
“Katya? Why, there couldn’t be a kinder soul than hers! She’s an angel for us all, I’m in love with her,” the girl replied rapturously.
Finally, at five o’clock, dinner was served, and it was also very noticeable that the dinner had been prepared not in the usual way, but especially for the visitor. There were two or three dishes obviously in addition to what was usually served, rather sophisticated ones, and one of them something altogether unfamiliar, so that no one could even put a name to it. Besides the usual table wines, a bottle of Tokay also appeared, obviously thought up for the visitor; toward the end of dinner champagne was served for some reason. Old Zakhlebinin, having drunk one glass too many, was in the most sunny-minded mood and was ready to laugh at everything Velchaninov said. The end was that Pavel Pavlovich finally could not help himself: carried away by the competition, he also suddenly decided to utter some pun, and so he did: from the end of the table where he sat by Mme. Zakhlebinin, the loud laughter of overjoyed girls suddenly came.
“Papa, Papa! Pavel Pavlovich has also made a pun,” two of the middle Zakhlebinin girls cried with one voice, “he says we’re ‘young misses one always misses …’ ”
“Ah, so he’s punning, too? Well, what pun has he made?” the old man responded in a solemn voice, turning patronizingly to Pavel Pavlovich and smiling beforehand at the anticipated pun.
“But that’s what he said, that we’re ‘young misses one always misses.’ ”
“Y-yes! Well, so what?” the old man still did not understand and smiled still more good-naturedly in anticipation.
“Oh, Papa, what’s the matter with you, you don’t understand! It’s misses and then misses; misses is the same as misses, misses one always misses…”
“Ahhh!” the perplexed old man drew out. “Hm! Well, he’ll do better next time!” and the old man laughed gaily.
“Pavel Pavlovich, one can’t have all perfections at once!” Marya Nikitishna taunted him loudly. “Ah, my God, he’s choking on a bone!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair.
Turmoil even ensued, but that was just what Marya Nikitishna wanted. Pavel Pavlovich had only swallowed his wine the wrong way, after grabbing it to conceal his embarrassment, but Marya Nikitishna insisted and swore up and down that it was “a fishbone, that she’d seen it herself, and one can die from that.”
“Thump him on the back!” someone shouted.
“In fact, that’s the best thing!” Zakhlebinin loudly approved, but volunteers had already turned up: Marya Nikitishna, the redheaded girlfriend (also invited for dinner), and, finally, the terribly frightened mother of the family in person—they all wanted to thump Pavel Pavlovich on the back. Pavel Pavlovich jumped up from the table to evade them and spent a whole minute insisting that it was merely wine that had gone down the wrong way, and that the coughing would soon pass—before they finally figured out that it was all Marya Nikitishna’s pranks.
“Well, aren’t you the little mischief, though!…” Mme. Zakhlebinin observed sternly to Marya Nikitishna—but was at once unable to help herself and burst into such laughter as rarely happened with her, which also produced an effect of a sort. After dinner they all went out to the balcony to have coffee.
“Such fine days we’re having!” the old man benevolently praised nature, looking out at the garden with pleasure. “Only we could use a little rain… Well, I’ll go and rest. Have fun, have fun, God bless you! And you have fun, too!” He slapped Pavel Pavlovich on the shoulder as he went out.
When everyone had gone down to the garden again, Pavel Pavlovich suddenly rushed over to Velchaninov and tugged him by the sleeve.
“For one moment, sir,” he whispered impatiently.
They walked to a solitary side path in the garden.
“No, excuse me this time, sir, no, this time I won’t let you…” he whispered, spluttering fiercely and grabbing Velchaninov’s sleeve.
“What? How’s that?” Velchaninov asked, making big eyes. Pavel Pavlovich stood silently gazing at him, moving his lips, and smiled fiercely.
“Where have you gone? Where are you? Everything’s ready!” the girls’ calls and impatient voices were heard. Velchaninov shrugged and went back to the company. Pavel Pavlovich went running after him.
“I bet he asked you for a handkerchief,” Marya Nikitishna said, “last time he also forgot it.”
“He eternally forgets!” a middle Zakhlebinin girl picked up.
“Forgot his handkerchief! Pavel Pavlovich forgot his handkerchief! Maman, Pavel Pavlovich forgot his handkerchief again, Maman, Pavel Pavlovich has caught cold again!” voices came.
“Why doesn’t he say so? Pavel Pavlovich, you are so fastidious!” Mme. Zakhlebinin drawled in a singsong voice. “It’s dangerous to joke with a cold; I’ll send you a handkerchief right away. And why is it he’s always catching cold!” she added as she left, glad of an occasion to go back to the house.
“I have two handkerchiefs, and no cold, ma’am,” Pavel Pavlovich called after her, but she must not have understood, and a minute later, as Pavel Pavlovich was trotting after everyone, trying to keep closer to Velchaninov and Nadya, a maid came puffing up to him and indeed brought him a handkerchief.
“Let’s play, let’s play, let’s play proverbs!” shouts came from all sides, as if they expected God knows what from their “proverbs.”
They chose a place and sat down on benches; it fell to Marya Nikitishna to guess; they demanded that she go as far away as possible and not eavesdrop; in her absence a proverb was chosen and the words were distributed. Marya Nikitishna came back and guessed it at once. The proverb was: “Dreadful the dream, but God is merciful.”
Marya Nikitishna was followed by the ruffled young man in blue spectacles. Of him still greater precautions were demanded—that he stand by the gazebo and turn his face fully toward the fence. The gloomy young man did his duty with disdain and even seemed to feel a certain moral humiliation. When he was called back, he could not guess anything, went around to each person, listening twice to what they told him, spent a long time gloomily reflecting, but nothing came of it. He was put to shame. The proverb was: “Prayer to God and service to the tsar are never in vain.”
“Besides, it’s a disgusting proverb!” the wounded youth grumbled indignantly, retreating to his place.
“Ah, how boring!” voices were heard.
Velchaninov went; he was hidden farther away than the others; he also failed to guess.
“Ah, how boring!” still more voices were heard.
“Well, now I’ll go,” said Nadya.
“No, no, now Pavel Pavlovich will go, it’s Pavel Pavlovich’s turn,” they all shouted and livened up a bit.
Pavel Pavlovich was taken right to the fence, to the corner, and placed facing it, and to keep him from turning around, the little redhead was set to watch him. Pavel Pavlovich, already cheered up and almost merry again, piously intended to do his duty and stood like a stump staring at the fence, not daring to turn around. The little redhead kept watch some twenty paces behind him, closer to the company, by the gazebo, exchanging excited winks with the other girls; one could see that they were all expecting something, even with a certain anxiousness; something was being prepared. Suddenly the little redhead waved her arms from behind the gazebo. That instant they all jumped up and rushed off somewhere at breakneck speed.