“Well,” says he, “what is the use of our living here, master and I? He’s squandered all his property, and it’s mighty little honor or good that we get out of this Petersburg of yours. As we started from the country, I thought it would be as it was with the last bárin (may his soul rest in peace!), we would go about with princes and counts and generals; he thought to himself, ‘I’ll find a countess for a sweetheart, and she’ll have a big dowry, and we’ll live on a big scale.’ But it’s quite a different thing from what he expected; here we are, running about from one tavern to another as bad off as we could be! The Princess Rtishcheva, you know, is his own aunt, and Prince Borotintsef is his godfather. What do you think? He went to see them only once, that was at Christmas-time; he never shows his nose there. Yes, and even their people laugh about it to me. ‘Why,’ says they, ‘your bárin is not a bit like his father!’ And once I take it upon myself to say to him⁠—

“ ‘Why wouldn’t you go, sir, and visit your aunt? They are feeling bad because you haven’t been for so long.’