“Kapiton, the shoemaker.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s a feather-brained fellow, that’s certain.  But it’s just for that the mistress reckons upon you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s one difficulty . . . you know the deaf man, Gerasim, he’s courting you, you see.  How did you come to bewitch such a bear?  But you see, he’ll kill you, very like, he’s such a bear . . .”

“He’ll kill me, Gavrila Andreitch, he’ll kill me, and no mistake.”

“Kill you . . .  Well we shall see about that.  What do you mean by saying he’ll kill you?  Has he any right to kill you? tell me yourself.”

“I don’t know, Gavrila Andreitch, about his having any right or not.”

“What a woman! why, you’ve made him no promise, I suppose . . .”

“What are you pleased to ask of me?”

The steward was silent for a little, thinking, “You’re a meek soul!  Well, that’s right,” he said aloud; “we’ll have another talk with you later, now you can go, Taniusha; I see you’re not unruly, certainly.”

Tatiana turned, steadied herself a little against the doorpost, and went away.

“And, perhaps, our lady will forget all about this wedding by to-morrow,” thought the steward; “and here am I worrying myself for nothing!  As for that insolent fellow, we must tie him down if it comes to that, we must let the police know . . .  Ustinya Fyedorovna!” he shouted in a loud voice to his wife, “heat the samovar, my good soul . . .”  All that day Tatiana hardly went out of the laundry.  At first she had started crying, then she wiped away her tears, and set to work as before.  Kapiton stayed till late at night at the gin-shop with a friend of his, a man of gloomy appearance, to whom he related in detail how he used to live in Petersburg with a gentleman, who would have been all right, except he was a bit too strict, and he had a slight weakness besides, he was too fond of drink; and, as to the fair sex, he didn’t stick at anything.  His gloomy companion merely said yes; but when Kapiton announced at last that, in a certain event, he would have to lay hands on himself to-morrow, his gloomy companion remarked that it was bedtime.  And they parted in surly silence.

Meanwhile, the steward’s anticipations were not fulfilled.  The old lady was so much taken up with the idea of Kapiton’s wedding, that even in the night she talked of nothing else to one of her companions, who was kept in her house solely to entertain her in case of sleeplessness, and, like a night cabman, slept in the day.  When Gavrila came to her after morning tea with his report, her first question was:  “And how about our wedding—­is it getting on all right?” He replied, of course, that it was getting on first-rate, and that Kapiton would appear before her to pay his reverence to her that day.  The old lady was not quite well; she did not give much time to business.  The steward went back to his own room, and called