“It must be great fun,” observed Velchaninov.

“Oh, no, it’s quite boring,” two or three voices answered at once.

“Or else we play theater,” Nadya observed, addressing him. “See that big tree with the bench around it? There, behind the tree, is like backstage, the actors sit there—say, a king, a queen, a princess, a young man—whatever anyone likes; each one comes out whenever he has a mind to and says whatever occurs to him, and something or other comes out.”

“But how nice!” Velchaninov praised once more.

“Oh, no, it’s quite boring! Each time it comes out as fun in the beginning, but by the end it turns senseless each time, because nobody knows how to finish; though maybe with you it would be more amusing. And we thought you were Pavel Pavlovich’s friend, but it turns out he was simply boasting. I’m very glad you came… owing to a certain circumstance,” she looked very seriously and meaningly at Velchaninov and at once stepped over beside Marya Nikitishna.

“There’ll be a game of proverbs this evening,” one girlfriend, whom he had scarcely noticed till then and had not yet exchanged a word with, whispered confidentially to Velchaninov, “and this evening everybody will laugh at Pavel Pavlovich, so you must, too.”

“Ah, how nice of you to come, we’re so bored here otherwise,” another girlfriend said to him amiably, one he had not yet noticed at all, and who appeared from God knows where, a little redhead with freckles, her face flushed in a terribly funny way from walking and the heat.

Pavel Pavlovich’s uneasiness grew greater and greater. In the garden, toward the end, Velchaninov succeeded completely in becoming close with Nadya; she no longer peered at him scowlingly as earlier and seemed to have set aside the idea of studying him more closely, but laughed, jumped, squealed, and even seized him by the hand once or twice; she was terribly happy, and went on paying not the slightest attention to Pavel Pavlovich, as if not noticing him. Velchaninov was convinced that there existed a positive conspiracy against Pavel Pavlovich; Nadya and a crowd of girls would draw Velchaninov to one side, while other girlfriends under various pretexts lured Pavel Pavlovich to the other; but he would tear away and at once run headlong straight to them—that is, to Velchaninov and Nadya—and suddenly thrust his bald and anxiously eavesdropping head between them. Toward the end, he was not even embarrassed; the naivete of his gestures and movements was at times astonishing. Velchaninov could not help paying special attention once again to Katerina Fedoseevna; by then it had, of course, become clear to her that he had come not at all for her sake and was already much too interested in Nadya; but her face was as sweet and good-natured as before. She seemed to be happy in the fact alone that she, too, was near them and could listen to what the new visitor was saying; she herself, poor dear, had never known how to mix adroitly in conversation.

“And how nice your sister Katerina Fedoseevna is!” Velchaninov suddenly said to Nadya on the quiet.

“Katya? Why, there couldn’t be a kinder soul than hers! She’s an angel for us all, I’m in love with her,” the girl replied rapturously.

Finally, at five o’clock, dinner was served, and it was also very noticeable that the dinner had been prepared not in the usual way, but especially for the visitor. There were two or three dishes obviously in addition to what was usually served, rather sophisticated ones, and one of them something altogether unfamiliar, so that no one could even put a name to it. Besides the usual table wines, a bottle of Tokay also appeared, obviously thought up for the visitor; toward the end of dinner champagne was served for some reason. Old Zakhlebinin, having drunk one glass too many, was in the most sunny-minded mood and was ready to laugh at everything Velchaninov said. The end was that Pavel Pavlovich finally could not help himself: carried away by the competition, he also suddenly decided to utter some pun, and so he did: from the end of the table where he sat by Mme. Zakhlebinin, the loud laughter of overjoyed girls suddenly came.

“Papa, Papa! Pavel Pavlovich has also made a pun,” two of the middle Zakhlebinin girls cried with one voice, “he says we’re ‘young misses one always misses …’ ”

“Ah, so he’s punning, too? Well, what pun has he made?” the old man responded in a solemn voice, turning patronizingly to Pavel Pavlovich and smiling beforehand at the anticipated pun.

“But that’s what he said, that we’re ‘young misses one always misses.’ ”

“Y-yes! Well, so what?” the old man still did not understand and smiled still more good-naturedly in anticipation.

“Oh, Papa, what’s the matter with you, you don’t understand! It’s misses and then misses; misses is the same as misses, misses one always misses…”

“Ahhh!” the perplexed old man drew out. “Hm! Well, he’ll do better next time!” and the old man laughed gaily.

“Pavel Pavlovich, one can’t have all perfections at once!” Marya Nikitishna taunted him loudly. “Ah, my God, he’s choking on a bone!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair.

Turmoil even ensued, but that was just what Marya Nikitishna wanted. Pavel Pavlovich had only swallowed his wine the wrong way, after grabbing it to conceal his embarrassment, but Marya Nikitishna insisted and swore up and down that it was “a fishbone, that she’d seen it herself, and one can die from that.”

“Thump him on the back!” someone shouted.

“In fact, that’s the best thing!” Zakhlebinin loudly approved, but volunteers had already turned up: Marya Nikitishna, the redheaded girlfriend (also invited for dinner), and, finally, the terribly frightened mother of the family in person—they all wanted to thump Pavel Pavlovich on the back. Pavel Pavlovich jumped up from the table to evade them and spent a whole minute insisting that it was merely wine that had gone down the wrong way, and that the coughing would soon pass—before they finally figured out that it was all Marya Nikitishna’s pranks.

“Well, aren’t you the little mischief, though!…” Mme. Zakhlebinin observed sternly to Marya Nikitishna—but was at once unable to help herself and burst into such laughter as rarely happened with her, which also produced an effect of a sort. After dinner they all went out to the balcony to have coffee.

“Such fine days we’re having!” the old man benevolently praised nature, looking out at the garden with pleasure. “Only we could use a little rain… Well, I’ll go and rest. Have fun, have fun, God bless you! And you have fun, too!” He slapped Pavel Pavlovich on the shoulder as he went out.

When everyone had gone down to the garden again, Pavel Pavlovich suddenly rushed over to Velchaninov and tugged him by the sleeve.

“For one moment, sir,” he whispered impatiently.

They walked to a solitary side path in the garden.

“No, excuse me this time, sir, no, this time I won’t let you…” he whispered, spluttering fiercely and grabbing Velchaninov’s sleeve.

“What? How’s that?” Velchaninov asked, making big eyes. Pavel Pavlovich stood silently gazing at him, moving his lips, and smiled fiercely.

“Where have you gone? Where are you? Everything’s ready!” the girls’ calls and impatient voices were heard. Velchaninov shrugged and went back to the company. Pavel Pavlovich went running after him.

“I bet he asked you for a handkerchief,” Marya Nikitishna said, “last time he also forgot it.”

“He eternally forgets!” a middle Zakhlebinin girl picked up.

“Forgot his handkerchief! Pavel Pavlovich forgot his handkerchief! Maman, Pavel Pavlovich forgot his handkerchief again, Maman, Pavel Pavlovich has caught cold again!” voices came.

“Why doesn’t he say so? Pavel Pavlovich, you are so fastidious!” Mme. Zakhlebinin drawled in a singsong voice. “It’s dangerous to joke with a cold; I’ll send you a handkerchief right away. And why is it he’s always catching cold!” she added as she left, glad of an occasion to go back to the house.