in thought and meditation; but the subject of his thoughts was probably known to God alone. It is impossible to say that he busied himself with the management of his estate, for he never even went into the fields, and affairs seemed to manage themselves. When the steward said, “It would be as well, sir, to do so and so,”—“Yes: it would not be bad,” was his customary reply, as he puffed away at his pipe, which had become a habit with him when he served in the army, where he had been considered the most discreet, most delicate, and the most accomplished, of officers. “Yes, it really would not be bad,” he repeated.

When a moujik came to him, and said, as he scratched the back of his head, “Master, pray let me leave my work, allow me to earn something,”—“Go,” he replied as he smoked his pipe; and it never even entered his head that the moujik had gone off on a drunken carouse. Sometimes, as he gazed from the verandah at the yard and the pond, he said that it would be as well if an underground passage could be made from the house, or if a stone bridge were built across the pond with booths on each side, where dealers might sit and sell the various small wares required by the peasants. At such times, his eyes became particularly sweet, and his face assumed a most satisfied expression.

However, all these projects were confined to words alone. Some book or other was always lying in his study, with a mark the fourteenth page; a book which he had been reading constantly for the last two years. There was forever something lacking in the house: in the drawing-room, there was some very handsome furniture, covered with an elegant silken material, which certainly must have cost a high price; but on two of the arm-chairs it was missing, and they were simply covered with rugs. For several years, Maniloff had said to his visitors, “Don’t sit down on those chairs, they are not ready yet.” In one room of the house, too, there was no furniture at all; though directly after his marriage he had remarked, “My love, we must see about putting some furniture into that room to-morrow, if only for a time.” In the evening a very handsome candlestick of dark bronze, representing the three Graces, and with an elegant mother- of-pearl shade, was placed upon the table, and beside it was set a plain brass candlestick, which was lame, twisted on one side, and all covered with tallow, although neither master, mistress, nor servants perceived it.

Maniloff and his wife were perfectly satisfied with each other. In spite of the fact that they had been married for more than eight years, each was constantly offering the other a bit of apple, or a sugar- plum, or a nut, and saying in a touchingly tender voice, expressive of the most perfect affection, “Open your little mouth, my soul, and I will put this tidbit in.” Of course the little mouth opened very gracefully on such occasions. Surprises were prepared for birthdays, such as a mother-of-pearl case for a toothbrush. And very frequently, as the husband and the wife sat on the sofa, the former would suddenly abandon his pipe, for some utterly inscrutable cause, and the other her work, if she chanced to have any in her hand at the time, and they would imprint upon each other’s lips such a long and languishing kiss, that a cigarette might have been smoked during the time it lasted. In a word, they were what is called happy. But it may be observed that there are many other occupations in a house besides indulging in prolonged kisses and surprises; and many different questions might have been put to the Maniloff couple. Why, for instance, did matters go on so stupidly and senselessly in the kitchen? Why was the storeroom so empty? Why have a thief for housekeeper? Why were the servants dirty and intoxicated? Why did they all sleep so unmercifully, or spend their time in playing pranks? But all these are trivial subjects, for Madame Manilova had been to a boarding school; and a good education is received in boarding-schools, as is well known. Three principal subjects there constitute the foundation of human virtue,—the French language, which is indispensable to family happiness; the pianoforte, necessary to afford pleasant moments to a husband; and lastly, come matters of domestic management,—such as knitting purses, and other surprises.

But let us return to our heroes, who have been standing for several minutes before the drawing-room door, entreating each other to enter first.

“Pray do not put yourself out so much for me; I will follow you,” said Tchitchikoff.

“No, Pavel Ivanovitch, no; you are a guest,” said Maniloff, pointing to the door.