Our visitor did not keep us long waiting.  At the beginning of May two wagon-loads of big boxes arrived from the station.  These boxes looked so majestic that the drivers instinctively took off their hats as they lifted them down.

“There must be uniforms and gunpowder in those boxes,” I thought.

Why “gunpowder”?  Probably the conception of a general was closely connected in my mind with cannons and gunpowder.

When I woke up on the morning of the tenth of May, nurse told me in a whisper that “my uncle had come.”  I dressed rapidly, and, washing after a fashion, flew out of my bedroom without saying my prayers.  In the vestibule I came upon a tall, solid gentleman with fashionable whiskers and a foppish-looking overcoat.  Half dead with devout awe, I went up to him and, remembering the ceremonial mother had impressed upon me, I scraped my foot before him, made a very low bow, and craned forward to kiss his hand; but the gentleman did not allow me to kiss his hand:  he informed me that he was not my uncle, but my uncle’s footman, Pyotr.  The appearance of this Pyotr, far better dressed than Pobyedimsky or me, excited in me the utmost astonishment, which, to tell the truth, has lasted to this day.  Can such dignified, respectable people with stern and intellectual faces really be footmen?  And what for?

Pyotr told me that my uncle was in the garden with my mother.  I rushed into the garden.

Nature, knowing nothing of the history of the Gundasov family and the rank of my uncle, felt far more at ease and unconstrained than I. There was a clamour going on in the garden such as one only bears at fairs.  Masses of starlings flitting through the air and hopping about the walks were noisily chattering as they hunted for cockchafers.  There were swarms of sparrows in the lilac-bushes, which threw their tender, fragrant blossoms straight in one’s face.  Wherever one turned, from every direction came the note of the golden oriole and the shrill cry of the hoopoe and the red-legged falcon.  At any other time I should have begun chasing dragon-flies or throwing stones at a crow which was sitting on a low mound under an aspen-tree, with his blunt beak turned away; but at that moment I was in no mood for mischief.  My heart was throbbing, and I felt a cold sinking at my stomach; I was preparing myself to confront a gentleman with epaulettes, with a naked sword, and with terrible eyes!

But imagine my disappointment!  A dapper little foppish gentleman in white silk trousers, with a white cap on his head, was walking beside my mother in the garden.  With his hands behind him and his head thrown back, every now and then running on ahead of mother, he looked quite young.  There was so much life and movement in his whole figure that I could only detect the treachery of age when I came close up behind and saw beneath his cap a fringe of close-cropped silver hair.  Instead of the staid dignity and stolidity of a general, I saw an almost schoolboyish nimbleness; instead of a collar sticking up to his ears, an ordinary light blue necktie.  Mother and my uncle were walking in the avenue talking together.  I went softly up to them from behind, and waited for one of them to look round.