'What say?'
'Won't it be, you know, a little awkward for me with the old woman, eh?'
'Oh, that's as you like.'
'Oh, well, I only thought it might, perhaps. My comrades might notice it; it's a little . . . But I'll think it over. Give me my pipe. . . So she,' he went on after a short silence—'Vassilissa, I mean, says then . . .'
But Onisim had no desire to continue the conversation, and he assumed his habitual morose expression.
IV
Ivan Afanasiitch's acquaintance with Praskovia Ivanovna began in the following manner. Five days after his conversation with Onisim, Pyetushkov set off in the evening to the baker's shop. 'Well,' thought he, as he unlatched the creaking gate, 'I don't know how it's to be.' . . .
He mounted the steps, opened the door. A huge, crested hen rushed, with a deafening cackle, straight under his feet, and long after was still running about the yard in wild excitement. From a room close by peeped the astonished countenance of the fat woman. Ivan Afanasiitch smiled and nodded. The fat woman bowed to him. Tightly grasping
266
