a council.  The matter certainly called for serious consideration.  Tatiana would make no difficulty, of course; but Kapiton had declared in the hearing of all that he had but one head to lose, not two or three. . .  Gerasim turned rapid sullen looks on every one, would not budge from the steps of the maids’ quarters, and seemed to guess that some mischief was being hatched against him.  They met together.  Among them was an old sideboard waiter, nicknamed Uncle Tail, to whom every one looked respectfully for counsel, though all they got out of him was, “Here’s a pretty pass! to be sure, to be sure, to be sure!” As a preliminary measure of security, to provide against contingencies, they locked Kapiton up in the lumber-room where the filter was kept; then considered the question with the gravest deliberation.  It would, to be sure, be easy to have recourse to force.  But Heaven save us!  There would be an uproar, the mistress would be put out—­it would be awful!  What should they do?  They thought and thought, and at last thought out a solution.  It had many a time been observed that Gerasim could not bear drunkards. . . .  As he sat at the gates, he would always turn away with disgust when some one passed by intoxicated, with unsteady steps and his cap on one side of his ear.  They resolved that Tatiana should be instructed to pretend to be tipsy, and should pass by Gerasim staggering and reeling about.  The poor girl refused for a long while to agree to this, but they persuaded her at last; she saw, too, that it was the only possible way of getting rid of her adorer.  She went out.  Kapiton was released from the lumber-room; for, after all, he had an interest in the affair.  Gerasim was sitting on the curbstone at the gates, scraping the ground with a spade. . . .  From behind every corner, from behind every window-blind, the others were watching him. . . .  The trick succeeded beyond all expectations.  On seeing Tatiana, at first, he nodded as usual, making caressing, inarticulate sounds; then he looked carefully at her, dropped his spade, jumped up, went up to her, brought his face close to her face. . . .  In her fright she staggered more than ever, and shut her eyes. . . .  He took her by the arm, whirled her right across the yard, and going into the room where the council had been sitting, pushed her straight at Kapiton.  Tatiana fairly swooned away. . . .  Gerasim stood, looked at her, waved his hand, laughed, and went off, stepping heavily, to his garret. . . .  For the next twenty-four hours he did not come out of it.  The postilion Antipka said afterwards that he saw Gerasim through a crack in the wall, sitting on his bedstead, his face in his hand.  From time to time he uttered soft regular sounds; he was wailing a dirge, that is, swaying backwards and forwards with his eyes shut, and shaking his head as drivers or bargemen do when they chant their melancholy songs.  Antipka could not bear it, and he came away from the crack.