I made such a reply as one does make in such circumstances, and turned to follow him. A little path that had lately been cleared soon led us out of the grove of lime-trees; we came into the kitchen-garden. Between the old apple-trees and gooseberry bushes were rows of curly whitish-green cabbages; the hop twined its tendrils round high poles; there were thick ranks of brown twigs tangled over with dried peas; large flat pumpkins seemed rolling on the ground; cucumbers showed yellow under their dusty angular leaves; tall nettles were waving along the hedge; in two or three places grew clumps of tartar honeysuckle, elder, and wild rose--the remnants of former flower-beds. Near a small fish-pond, full of reddish and slimy water, we saw the well, surrounded by puddles. Ducks were busily splashing and waddling about these puddles; a dog blinking and twitching in every limb was gnawing a bone in the meadow, where a piebald cow was lazily chewing the grass, from time to time flicking its tail over its lean back. The little path turned to one side; from behind thick willows and birches we caught sight of a little grey old house, with a boarded roof and a winding flight of steps. Radilov stopped short. 'But,' he said, with a good-humoured and direct look in my face,' on second thoughts ... perhaps you don't care to come and see me, after all.... In that case--' I did not allow him to finish, but assured him that, on the contrary, it would be a great pleasure to me to dine with him. 'Well, you know best.' We went into the house. A young man in a long coat of stout blue cloth met us on the steps. Radilov at once told him to bring Yermolaï some vodka; my huntsman made a respectful bow to the back of the munificent host. From the hall, which was decorated with various parti-coloured pictures and check curtains, we went into a small room--Radilov's study. I took off my hunting accoutrements, and put my gun in a corner; the young man in the long-skirted coat busily brushed me down. 'Well, now, let us go into the drawing-room.' said Radilov cordially. 'I will make you acquainted with my mother.' I walked after him. In the drawing-room, in the sofa in the centre of the room, was sitting an old lady of medium height, in a cinnamon-coloured dress and a white cap, with a thinnish, kind old face, and a timid, mournful expression. 'Here, mother, let me introduce to you our neighbour....' The old lady got up and made me a bow, not letting go out of her withered hands a fat worsted reticule that looked like a sack. 'Have you been long in our neighbourhood?' she asked, in a weak and gentle voice, blinking her eyes. 'No, not long.' 'Do you intend to remain here long?' 'Till the winter, I think.' The old lady said no more.