to the left, was still vacant. But first of all Ganya took the prince to the family side. This family side consisted of a large room that was turned, when needed, into a dining room, of a drawing room, which was, however, a drawing room only during the daytime, but in the evening turned into Ganya's study and bedroom, and, finally, of a third room, small and always closed: this was the bedroom of Nina Alexandrovna and Varvara Ardalionovna. In short, everything in this apartment was cramped and squeezed; Ganya only gritted his teeth to himself; though he may have wished to be respectful to his mother, it was evident the moment one stepped into the place that he was the great tyrant of the family.
Nina Alexandrovna was not alone in the drawing room, Varvara Ardalionovna was sitting with her; they were both busy knitting as they talked with a visitor, Ivan Petrovich Ptitsyn. Nina Alexandrovna seemed to be about fifty, with a thin, pinched face and a deep darkness under her eyes. She looked sickly and somewhat woebegone, but her face and gaze were quite pleasant; her first words betokened a serious character and one filled with genuine dignity. Despite her woebegone look, one could sense firmness and even resolution in her. She was dressed extremely modestly, in something dark and quite old-womanish, but her ways, her conversation, her whole manner betrayed a woman who had seen better society.
Varvara Ardalionovna was a young lady of about twenty-three, of average height, rather thin, with a face which, while not really beautiful, contained in itself the mystery of being likable without beauty and of attracting to the point of passion. She resembled her mother very much, and was even dressed almost like her mother, from a total indifference to dressing up. The look of her gray eyes could on occasion be very gay and tender, though it was most often grave and pensive, sometimes even too much so, especially of late. Firmness and resolution could be seen in her face, too, but one sensed that this firmness could be even more energetic and enterprising than in her mother. Varvara Ardalionovna was rather hot-tempered, and her brother sometimes even feared that hot-temperedness. Ivan Petrovich Ptitsyn, the visitor who was now sitting with them, also feared it. He was still a rather young man, under thirty, modestly but finely dressed, with pleasant but somehow much too staid manners. His dark blond beard indicated that he was not in government service.27 He was capable of intelligent and interesting conversation, but was more often silent. Generally
he even made an agreeable impression. He was clearly not indifferent to Varvara Ardalionovna and did not hide his feelings. Varvara Ardalionovna treated him amiably, but delayed in answering some of his questions, and even disliked them; Ptitsyn, however, was far from discouraged. Nina Alexandrovna was affectionate with him, and lately had even begun to trust him in many things. It was known, however, that his specific occupation was making money by giving short-term loans at interest on more or less sure pledges. He and Ganya were great friends.
After a thorough but curt introduction from Ganya (who greeted his mother rather drily, did not greet his sister at all, and immediately took Ptitsyn somewhere out of the room), Nina Alexandrovna said a few kind words to the prince and told Kolya, who peeped in at the door, to take him to the middle room. Kolya was a boy with a merry and rather sweet face, and a trustful and simple-hearted manner.
"Where's your luggage?" he asked, leading the prince into his room.
"I have a little bundle; I left it in the front hall."
"I'll bring it right away. All we have for servants are the cook and Matryona, so I have to help, too. Varya supervises everything and gets angry. Ganya says you came today from Switzerland?"
"Yes."
"Is it nice in Switzerland?"
"Very."
"Mountains?" Yes.
"I'll lug your bundles here right away."
Varvara Ardalionovna came in.
"Matryona will make your bed now. Do you have a suitcase?"
"No, a bundle. Your brother went to get it; it's in the front hall."
"There's no bundle there except this little one; where did you put it?" asked Kolya, coming back into the room.
"But there's nothing except that," announced the prince, taking his bundle.
"Aha! And I thought Ferdyshchenko might have filched it."
"Don't blather," Varya said sternly. She also spoke quite drily with the prince and was barely polite with him.
"Chère Babette, you might treat me a little more gently, I'm not Ptitsyn."
"You still ought to be whipped, Kolya, you're so stupid. You may
address all your needs to Matryona. Dinner is at half-past four. You may dine with us or in your room, whichever you prefer. Let's go, Kolya, stop bothering him."
"Let's go, decisive character!"
On their way out they ran into Ganya.
"Is father at home?" Ganya asked Kolya and, on receiving an affirmative reply, whispered something in his ear.
Kolya nodded and went out after Varvara Ardalionovna.
"A couple of words, Prince, I forgot to tell you, what with all these . . . doings. A request: do me a favor—if it's not too much of a strain for you—don't babble here about what just went on between me and Aglaya, or there about what you find here; because there's also enough ugliness here. To hell with it, though . . . But control yourself, at least for today."
"I assure you that I babbled much less than you think," said the prince, somewhat annoyed at Ganya's reproaches. Their relations were obviously becoming worse and worse.
"Well, I've already suffered enough on account of you today. In short, I beg you."
"Note this, too, Gavrila Ardalionovich, that I was not bound in any way earlier and had no reason not to mention the portrait. You didn't ask me not to."
"Pah, what a vile room," Ganya observed, looking around disdainfully, "dark and windows on the courtyard. You've come to us inopportunely in all respects . . . Well, that's none of my business; I don't let rooms."
Ptitsyn looked in and called Ganya. He hastily abandoned the prince and went out, though he had wanted to say something more, but was obviously hesitant and as if ashamed to begin; and he had also denounced the room as if from embarrassment.
The prince had just managed to wash and to straighten his clothes a bit when the door opened again and a new figure appeared in it.
This was a gentleman of about thirty, rather tall, broad-shouldered, with an enormous, curly, red-haired head. His face was fleshy and ruddy, his lips thick, his nose broad and flattened, his eyes small, puffy, and jeering, as if constantly winking. The whole of it made a rather insolent picture. His clothes were on the dirty side.
At first he opened the door just enough to thrust his head in. This thrust-in head surveyed the room for about five seconds, then the door slowly began to open, the whole figure was outlined on
the threshold, but the visitor did not come in yet, but squinted and went on studying the prince from the threshold. Finally he closed the door behind him, approached, sat down on a chair, took the prince firmly by the hand and seated him at an angle to himself on the sofa.
"Ferdyshchenko," he said, peering intently and questioningly into the prince's face.
"What about it?" the prince replied, almost bursting into laughter.