He wanted to be talking himself. If other people talked in his presence, he suffered from a feeling like jealousy.

“So that’s how it is, my dear boy,” he began, looking affectionately at Meier. “In the simplicity and goodness of our hearts, and from fear of being suspected of being behind the times, we fraternize with, excuse me, all sorts of riffraff, we preach fraternity and equality with moneylenders and innkeepers; but if we would only think, we should see how criminal that good-nature is. We have brought things to such a pass, that the fate of civilization is hanging on a hair. My dear fellow, what our forefathers gained in the course of ages will be tomorrow, if not today, outraged and destroyed by these modern Huns.⁠ ⁠…”

After supper they all went into the drawing room. Genya and Iraida lighted the candles on the piano, got out their music.⁠ ⁠… But their father still went on talking, and there was no telling when he would leave off. They looked with misery and vexation at their egoist-father, to whom the pleasure of chattering and displaying his intelligence was evidently more precious and important than his daughters’ happiness. Meier, the only young man who ever came to their house, came⁠—they knew⁠—for the sake of their charming, feminine society, but the irrepressible old man had taken possession of him, and would not let him move a step away.