Peals of laughter rose, Yudushka was displeased, but he affably joined in the merriment.
In the midst of the general excitement, Arina Petrovna suddenly grew silent and listened attentively.
"Stop, be quiet. Somebody is coming," she said.
Yudushka and Yevpraksia listened, but heard no sound.
"I tell you, somebody is coming.
Listen, listen! Someone is coming and he is not far off."
They listened again, and surely there was a faint tinkling in the distance, which the wind brought nearer one moment and carried away the next.
Five minutes later the bells were distinctly heard. The sound of them was followed by voices in the court-yard.
"The young master, Piotr Porfirych, has arrived," came from the antechamber.
Yudushka rose, and remained standing, dumfounded and pale as death.
_____ CHAPTER IV
Petenka walked in looking flabby and dispirited, kissed his father's hand, observed the same ceremony with his grandmother, then bowed to Yevpraksia, and sat down.
He was about twenty-five, rather good-looking, in an army officer's travelling uniform.
That was all one could say about him. Even Yudushka knew scarcely more.
The relations of father and son were not of the kind one could call strained. There simply were no relations, you might say.
Yudushka knew Petenka to be a man who in the eyes of the law was his son and to whom he had to send a certain allowance determined by Yudushka himself, in consideration of which he was entitled to homage and obedience.
Petenka, on the other hand, knew that he had a father who could make things unpleasant for him at any time he wished.
He made trips to Golovliovo quite willingly, especially since he had become a commissioned officer, not because he greatly enjoyed his father's company, but simply because every man who is not clearly conscious of his aim in life instinctively gravitates to his native place.
But now, apparently, he had come because he had been obliged to come, and consequently manifested not a single sign of the joyous perplexity with which every prodigal son of the gentry celebrates his arrival home.
Petenka was not talkative.
All his father's ejaculations of pleasant surprise were met with silence, or a forced smile, and when Yudushka asked,
"Why did it occur to you all of a sudden?" he answered even crossly, "It just occurred to me and here I am."
"Well, thank you, thank you for remembering your father. I am glad you came.
I suppose you thought of grandmother, too?"
"Yes, I thought of grandmother, too."
"Hold on! Maybe you recollected that today is the Anniversary of your brother Volodenka's death?"
"Yes, I thought of that, too."
Thus the conversation went for about half an hour, so that it was impossible to tell whether Petenka were answering or dodging the questions.
So, in spite of Yudushka's tolerance of his children's indifference to him, he could not refrain from remarking:
"Well, my child, you are not affectionate. One could hardly call you an affectionate son!"
Had Petenka kept silence this time also, had he taken his father's remark meekly, or better still, had he kissed his father's hand and said, "Excuse me, father dear, you know I am tired from the journey," things would have passed off pleasantly.
But Petenka behaved like an ungrateful child.
"Yes, that's what I am," he answered gruffly. "Let me alone, please."
Then Porfiry Vladimirych felt so hurt, so wounded that he could not keep quiet any longer.
"To think of the pains I have taken for your sake!" he said, with bitterness. "Even here I never stop thinking how to improve this and that, so that you may be comfortable and cozy, and suffer no lack, and have no worry. And all of you fight shy of me."
"Who is 'all of you'?"
"Well, you. And the deceased, too, may his soul rest in peace, he was just the same."
"Well, I am grateful to you."
"I don't see your gratitude—neither gratitude nor affection—nothing."
"I'm not affectionate—that's all.
But you speak in the plural all the time. One of us is dead already."
"Yes, he is dead. God punished him.
God punishes disobedient children.
Still, I remember him.
He was unruly, but I remember him.
Tomorrow, you see, we shall have the memorial services performed.
He offended me, but I, notwithstanding, remember my duty.
Lord! The sort of thing that goes on these days!
Here a son comes to his father and snarls at the very first word.
Is that how we acted in our days?