Interrupted Stories

This woman, carefully wrapped up, in a hat with a lowered veil, had appeared on the street a long time ago. She walked slowly along the opposite sidewalk and watched with restless attention what was happening in the Stolygin courtyard. In the yard, everything was quiet; a young houseboy in the entryway was cracking nuts, and the coachman near the shed was cleaning a horse collar and smoking from a tiny pipe. However, even this was enough to scare her off; she walked past, and a quarter of an hour later, she appeared on the sidewalk where Efim was sleeping. The dog began to growl, but suddenly rushed toward the woman with all the expressions of canine joy; she was frightened by the dog's caresses and walked away as quickly as possible. Having inspected once again what was happening in the yard, she decided to approach Efim and call him. "Eh," muttered Efim, "what do you want?" He was not as happy as his friend with the split ear and did not recognize who was speaking to them. "Efimushka," the stranger continued, "call Kirilovna out here." "Nastasya Kirilovna? And what do you need her for?" the porter asked, stumbling over his words. — "Why, don't you recognize me?" — "Oh, Mother Most Holy Theotokos," the old man answered and jumped up from the bench, "the eyes, what has become of them, mother. Look who I didn't recognize, forgive me, mother; I have lost my mind in my old age, so I am no good for anything now."

— "Listen, Efim, I am in a hurry. If possible, call Nastasya." — "I hear you, mother, I hear you. Why wouldn't it be possible? Everything is possible. I would run for you right now—but here, mother of mine," and the old man scratched his yellowing hair, "what if Tit Trofimovich finds out?" The woman looked at him with compassion and remained silent. The old man continued: "I am afraid, oh, I am afraid, mother. These old bones, and my age, and our coachman Neppadist—God forbid, he has such a heavy hand; he would beat you to death in the stable, and you wouldn't even be able to fulfill your Christian duty."

The old man had not yet finished his speech when an old woman popped out of the gates—gaunt, half-blind, all in wrinkles, with gray hair. "Oh, mother, do not listen to what this old owl is singing to you. Please, come to me, I will take you in—why, mother recognized you from the window! She recognized your gait, and her heart began to beat. 'Oh,' I say to myself, 'our mistress is coming,' and I run to the master’s chambers to Anatoly Mikhailovich, and then I ran into the little houseboy Vanyushka, a truly venomous one we have, a nasty little spy. What did I ask? Is the master sleeping? — 'Still sleeping'—may he be... well, not in front of you." She spoke all this so quickly with