Nekhliudof was delighted to see this happy household; and at the same time he felt a sense of constraint in presence of these peasants, men and women, all looking at him. He flushed a little as he sat down on the bench.
“Give me a crust of hot bread: I am fond of it,” said he, and the flush deepened.
Karp’s wife cut off a huge slice of bread, and handed it on a plate to the prince. Nekhliudof said nothing, not knowing what to say. The women also were silent, the old man smiled benevolently.
“Well, now why am I so awkward? as though I were to blame for something,” thought Nekhliudof. “Why shouldn’t I make my proposition about the farm? What stupidity!” Still he remained silent.
“Well, father Mitri Mikolayévitch, what are you going to say about my boys’ proposal?” asked the old man.
“I should advise you absolutely not to send them away, but to have them stay at home, and work,” said Nekhliudof, suddenly collecting his wits. “You know what I have proposed to you. Go in with me, and buy some of the crown woods and some more land—”
“But how are we going to get money to buy it, your excellency?” he asked, interrupting the prince.
“Why, it isn’t very much wood, only two hundred rubles’ worth,” replied Nekhliudof.
The old man gave an indignant laugh.
“Very good, if that’s all. Why not buy it?” said he.
“Haven’t you money enough?” asked the prince reproachfully.