“Come, don’t you think it is worth a few kopeks to be called ‘a pearl,’ ‘a diamond,’ ’an emerald’?”

“Is that all they called you?” she inquired, with a disdainful sniff.

“No; they said that I was ‘a real general-ess.’  They knew their business, you see.  And they said ‘madame’ instead of ’sudarynya.’* Was there any other title which they could have bestowed on me for the money?”

*_Sudarynya_ is the genuine Russian word for “madam,” but, like spasibo, “thank you,” it is used only by the lower classes.  Many merchants who know no French except madame use it as a delicate compliment to the patron’s social position.

She confessed, with a pitying sigh, that there was not, but returned to her plaint over the sinfully wasted kopeks.  Once I offered her some “tea-money” in the shape of a basket of raspberries, which she wished to preserve and drink in her tea, with the privilege of purchasing them herself.  As an experiment to determine whether bargaining is the outcome of thrift and economy alone, or a distinct pleasure in itself, it was a success.  I followed her from vender to vender, and waited with exemplary patience while she scrutinized their wares and beat down prices with feverish eagerness, despite the fact that she was not to pay the bill.  I put an end to the matter when she tried to persuade a pretty peasant girl, who had walked eight miles, to accept less than four cents a pound for superb berries.  I think it really spoiled my gift to her that I insisted on making the girl happy with five cents a pound.  After that I was not surprised to find Russian merchants catering to the taste of their customers by refusing to adopt the one-price system.

It was vulgar to go to market, of course.  Even the great mastiff who acted as yard dog at the bazaar made me aware of that fact.  He always greeted me politely, like a host, when he met me in the court at market hours.  But nothing could induce him even to look at me when he met me outside.  I tried to explain to him that my motives were scientific, not economical, and I introduced Katiusha to him as the family bargainer and scapegoat for his scorn.  He declined to relent.  After that I understood that there was nothing for it but to shoulder the responsibility myself, and I never attempted to palliate my unpardonable conduct in the eyes of the servants of my friends whom I occasionally encountered there.

The market was held in the inner courtyard of the Gostinny Dvor, near the chapel, which always occupies a conspicuous position in such places.  While the shops under the arcade, facing on the street, sold everything, from “gallantry wares” (dry goods and small wares) to nails, the inner booths were all devoted to edibles.  On the rubble pavement of the court squatted peasants from the villages for many versts round about, both Russian and Finnish, hedged in by their wares, vegetables, flowers, fruit, and live poultry.  The Russians exhibited no beautiful costumes; their proximity to the capital had done away with all that.  At first I was inexperienced, and went unprovided with receptacles for my marketing.  The market women looked up in surprise.