"To-day, I suppose, they are baking pancakes at father's."
At this prefatory remark Yudushka would grow green with rage. He was just getting ready to plunge into a complicated computation of how much he would get for his milk if all the cows of the neighborhood perished and none but his own, with God's help, remained unharmed and doubled their yield of milk.
"Why are they baking pancakes there?" he asked, trying to force a smile. "Goodness, to-day is Memorial Day! Isn't it stupid of me to have forgotten about it? And there's nothing in the house with which to honor the memory of my late mother. What a sin!"
"I should like to eat father's pancakes."
"Why not? Give orders to have them baked. Get hold of cook Marya or Ulita. Ulita cooks delicious pancakes."
"Maybe she has pleased you in some other way, too," remarked Yevpraksia acidly.
"No, but, oh, she's a witch at cooking pancakes, Ulita is. She cooks them light, soft--a sheer delight!"
Porfiry Vladimirych was evidently trying to mollify Yevpraksia, but to no avail.
"What I want is not yours, but father's pancakes," she answered, playing the spoiled darling.
"Well, that's not difficult. Get hold of the coachman, have him put a pair of horses to the carriage, and drive over to father's."
"No, sir, that won't do. If I've fallen in the trap, that's my own fault. Who has any use for one like me? You yourself called me a strumpet the other day. It's no use!"
"My, my! Isn't it a sin in you to accuse me falsely? Do you know how God punishes false accusations?"
"You did call me strumpet! You did! You did it in the presence of this ikon. How I hate your Golovliovo! I shall run away from here. I shall, by God!"
In the course of this spirited dialogue Yevpraksia behaved in a rather unconstrained manner. She swung about on the chair, picked her nose, and scratched her back. She was obviously playing comedy.
"Porfiry Vladimirych, I should like to tell you something," she went on mischievously. "I want to go home."
"Do you wish to pay a visit to your parents?"
"What's the matter? Has anybody offended you?"
"No, but--I'm not going to stay here forever. Besides, it's too dull here--it's frightful. The house is like a deserted place. The servants poke themselves away in the kitchens and their own quarters, and I sit in the house all alone. Some of these days I shall be murdered. At night, when I go to bed, strange whispers come from every corner."