Mishutka was sitting on one of his knees, and hindering him from drinking his tea.  The child jumped up and down and tried to clutch his papa’s shining lip.  After every three or four sips the father bent down to his son and kissed him on the head.  A grey cat with its tail in the air was rubbing itself against one of the table legs, and with a plaintive mew proclaiming its desire for food.  Liza hid behind the verandah curtain, and fastened her eyes upon the members of her former family; her face was radiant with joy.

“Misha!” she murmured, “Misha!  Are you really here, Misha?  The darling!  And how he loves Vanya!  Heavens!”

And Liza went off into a giggle when Mishutka stirred his father’s tea with a spoon.  “And how Vanya loves Misha!  My darlings!”

Liza’s heart throbbed, and her head went round with joy and happiness.  She sank into an armchair and went on observing them, sitting down.

“How did they come here?” she wondered as she sent airy kisses to Mishutka.  “Who gave them the idea of coming here?  Heavens!  Can all that wealth belong to them?  Can those swan-like horses that were led in at the gate belong to Ivan Petrovitch?  Ah!”

When he had finished his tea, Ivan Petrovitch went into the house.  Ten minutes later, he appeared on the steps and Liza was astounded . . . .  He, who in his youth only seven years ago had been called Vanushka and Vanka and had been ready to punch a man in the face and turn the house upside down over twenty kopecks, was dressed devilishly well.  He had on a broad-brimmed straw hat, exquisite brilliant boots, a pique waistcoat. . . .  Thousands of suns, big and little, glistened on his watch-chain.  With much chic he held in his right hand his gloves and cane.

And what swagger, what style there was in his heavy figure when, with a graceful motion of his hand, he bade the footman bring the horse round.

He got into the chaise with dignity, and told the footmen standing round the chaise to give him Mishutka and the fishing tackle they had brought.  Setting Mishutka beside him, and putting his left arm round him, he held the reins and drove off.

“Ge-ee up!” shouted Mishutka.

Liza, unaware of what she was doing, waved her handkerchief after them.  If she had looked in the glass she would have been surprised at her flushed, laughing, and, at the same time, tear-stained face.  She was vexed that she was not beside her gleeful boy, and that she could not for some reason shower kisses on him at once.

For some reason! . . .  Away with all your petty delicacies!

“Grisha!  Grisha!” Liza ran into Groholsky’s bedroom and set to work to wake him.  “Get up, they have come!  The darling!”

“Who has come?” asked Groholsky, waking up.

“Our people . . .  Vanya and Misha, they have come, they are in the villa opposite. . . .  I looked out, and there they were drinking tea. . . .  And Misha too. . . .  What a little angel our Misha has grown!  If only you had seen him!  Mother of God!”