"Why are they baking pancakes there?" he asked, trying to force a smile. "Goodness, to-day is Memorial Day! Isn't it stupid of me to have forgotten about it?
And there's nothing in the house with which to honor the memory of my late mother. What a sin!"
"I should like to eat father's pancakes."
"Why not? Give orders to have them baked.
Get hold of cook Marya or Ulita.
Ulita cooks delicious pancakes."
"Maybe she has pleased you in some other way, too," remarked Yevpraksia acidly.
"No, but, oh, she's a witch at cooking pancakes, Ulita is.
She cooks them light, soft—a sheer delight!"
Porfiry Vladimirych was evidently trying to mollify Yevpraksia, but to no avail.
"What I want is not yours, but father's pancakes," she answered, playing the spoiled darling.
"Well, that's not difficult.
Get hold of the coachman, have him put a pair of horses to the carriage, and drive over to father's."
"No, sir, that won't do. If I've fallen in the trap, that's my own fault.
Who has any use for one like me?
You yourself called me a strumpet the other day. It's no use!"
"My, my! Isn't it a sin in you to accuse me falsely?
Do you know how God punishes false accusations?"
"You did call me strumpet! You did! You did it in the presence of this ikon.
How I hate your Golovliovo! I shall run away from here. I shall, by God!"
In the course of this spirited dialogue Yevpraksia behaved in a rather unconstrained manner. She swung about on the chair, picked her nose, and scratched her back.
She was obviously playing comedy.
"Porfiry Vladimirych, I should like to tell you something," she went on mischievously. "I want to go home."
"Do you wish to pay a visit to your parents?"
"No, I mean to stay there altogether."
"What's the matter? Has anybody offended you?"
"No, but—I'm not going to stay here forever. Besides, it's too dull here—it's frightful.
The house is like a deserted place.
The servants poke themselves away in the kitchens and their own quarters, and I sit in the house all alone. Some of these days I shall be murdered.
At night, when I go to bed, strange whispers come from every corner."
Days went by, but Yevpraksia never thought of carrying out her threat; which did not lessen its effect on Porfiry Vladimirych.
It dawned upon him that in spite of his labors, so-called, he was utterly helpless, that if there were not someone to take care of his household affairs, he would have no dinner, no clean linen, no decent clothing. Hitherto he had not been aware of the fact that his surroundings had been artificially created. His day had passed in a manner established once and for all.
Everything in the house centered around his person and existed for him; everything was done in its proper time, everything was in its proper place; in short, there reigned such mechanical precision everywhere that he gave no thought to it.
Owing to this clock-work orderliness he could indulge in idle talk and thought without running against the sharp corners of reality.
Of course, this artificial paradise held together only by a hair; but Yudushka, always centered in himself, did not know it.
His life seemed to him to be built on a rock-bottom foundation, unchangeable, eternal. And suddenly the edifice was about to collapse because of Yevpraksia's foolish whim.
Yudushka was completely taken aback.
"What if she really leaves?" he reflected panic-stricken.
And he began to frame all sorts of preposterous plans to keep her from going. He even decided on concessions to Yevpraksia's rebellious youth which would never before have entered his mind.
"Ugh, ugh, ugh!" he thought, and spat out in disgust when the possibility of having anything to do with the coachman Arkhip or the clerk Ignat presented itself to him in all its offensive nakedness.
Soon, however, he became convinced that his fears were groundless. Thereupon his existence entered a new and quite unexpected phase.
Yevpraksia did not leave him, she even abated her attacks, but, to compensate, deserted him altogether.
May set in, the weather was fair, and Yevpraksia scarcely ever put in appearance.
She ran in for a moment and the next moment had disappeared.
In the morning Yudushka did not find his clothing in its usual place, and he had to engage in lengthy negotiations with the servants before he got clean linen. His tea and meals were served either too early or too late, and he was waited upon by the tipsy lackey Prokhor, who came in a stained coat emanating a peculiarly disgusting odor of fish and vodka.
Nevertheless, Porfiry Vladimirych was glad that Yevpraksia left him in peace.
He even reconciled himself to the disorder as long as he knew that there was someone to bear the responsibility for it.
What frightened him was not so much the disorder as the thought that it might be necessary for him to interfere personally in the details of everyday life.
He pictured with horror the minute he would have to administer, give orders and supervise.
In anticipation of that awful moment, he endeavored to stifle the voice of protest that at times rose in him, tried to shut his eyes to the confusion reigning in the house, and keep in the background and hold his tongue.