A House of Gentlefolk

in the clear heavens small rosy clouds seemed hardly to mov

t town of O—— (it was in the year 1842) two women were sitting at a

bad-looking, was clever and could be very agreeable when he chose. Marya Dmitrievna Pesto — that was her maiden name — had lost her parents in childhood. She spent some years in a boarding-school in Moscow, and after leaving school, lived on the family estate of Pokrovskoe, about forty miles from O——, with her aunt and her elder brother. This brother soon after obtained a post in Petersburg, and made them a scanty allowance. He treated his aunt and sister very shabbily till his sudden death cut short his career.

regretted her pretty Pokrovskoe, with its babbling brook, its wide meadows, and green copses; but she never opposed her husband in anything and had the greatest veneration for his wisdom and knowledge of the

she retained the manners of the boarding-school. She was self-indulgent and easily put out, even moved to tears when she was crossed in any of her habits. She was, however, very sweet and agreeable when all her wishes were carried out and none opposed her. Her

ery one the truth to his face, and even in the most straitened circumstances behaved just as if she had a fortune at her disposal. She could not endure Kalitin, and directly her niece married him, she removed to her little property, where for ten whole years she lived in a smoky peasants’ h

asked Marya Dmitrievna suddenly. “

d the latter. “Wha

sorry for

rievna mad

r knitting needles quickly. (She was knitting a large woolen scarf.) “He wo

re on him! Sergei Petr

ated the old l

nd!” observed Marya Dmitrievna; “even no

of the gutter,” muttered Marfa Timofyevna, an

ner opens his mouth than out comes a lie or a slander. And to think of his havin

. Sergei Petrovitch has had no education: of course he does not

myself. It would be better if he could not speak at all; he would not tell lies then. But here he is — speak of the devil,” added Mar

ange her curls. Marfa Timofye

ly? You must speak to your Palashk

red Marya Dmitrievna in a tone of vexation, drum

in a shrill piping voice, by a rosy-cheeked l