“That’s the way I’ll do,” said Nekhliudof to himself with a pleasant self-consciousness; and then, recollecting that he had still to go to the rich peasant Dutlof, he directed his steps toward a lofty and ample establishment, with two chimneys, standing in the midst of the village.
As he passed a neighboring hut on his way thither, he stopped to speak with a tall, disorderly-looking peasant-woman of forty summers, who came to meet him.
“A pleasant holiday, father,” she said, with some show of assurance, stopping at a little distance from him with a pleased smile and a low obeisance.
“Good morning, my nurse. How are you? I was just going to see your neighbor.”
“Pretty well, your excellency, my father. It’s a good idea. But won’t you come in? I beg you to. My old man would be very pleased.”
“Well, I’ll come; and we’ll have a little talk with you, nurse. Is this your house?”
“It is, sir.”
And the nurse led the way into the hut. Nekhliudof followed her into the entry, and sat down on a tub, and began to smoke a cigarette.
“It’s hot inside. It’s better to sit down here, and have our talk,” he said in reply to the woman’s invitation to go into the hut.
The nurse was a well-preserved and handsome woman. In the features of her countenance, and especially in her big black eyes, there was a strong