“Let us go indoors now, Vaniushka,” he said; wherefore they directed their steps towards the door. But to meet them! there issued Agafia Matvievna. “Why are you coming in so early?” she inquired. “Early, indeed? Why, we have paced the path twenty times each way, and from here to the fence is a distance of fifty _sazhens_; wherefore we have covered two versts in all.” “And how many times do _you_ say you have paced it?” she inquired of Vania. He hesitated. “Do not lie, but look me straight in the face,” she continued, fixing him with her gaze. “I have been watching you the whole time. Remember next Sunday. Possibly I might not let you go to the party that night.” “Well, mother,” the boy said at length, “we have paced the path only _twelve_ times.” “Ah, you rogue!” exclaimed Oblomov. “You were nipping off acacia-leaves all the time, whereas _I_ was keeping the most careful account.” “Then you must go and do some more walking,” decided the landlady. “Besides, the fish soup is not yet ready.” And she closed the door upon the pair. Oblomov, much against his will, completed another eight pacings of the path, and then entered the dining-room. On the large round table the fish soup was now steaming, and all hastened to take their usual seats--Oblomov in solitary state on the sofa, the landlady on his right, and the rest in due sequence. “I will help you to _this_ herring, as it is the fattest,” said Agafia Matvievna. “Very well,” he remarked. “Only, I think that a pie would go well with it.” “Oh dear! I have forgotten the pies! I meant to make some last night, but my memory is all gone to pieces!” The artful Agafia Matvievna! “Besides, I am afraid that I have forgotten the cutlets and the cabbage. In fact, you must not expect very much of a dinner to-day.” This was addressed ostensibly to Alexiev. “Never mind,” he replied. “I can eat anything.” “But why not cook him some pork and peas, or a beef-steak?” asked Oblomov. “I _did_ go to the butcher’s for a beefsteak, but there was not a single morsel of good beef left. However, I have made Monsieur Alexiev a cherry _compote_ instead. I know he likes that.” The truth was that cherry _compote was not_ bad for Oblomov; wherefore the complacent Alexiev had no choice but both to eat it and to like it. After dinner no power on earth could prevent Oblomov from assuming a recumbent position; so, to obviate his going to sleep, the landlady was accustomed to place beside him his coffee, and then to inspire, her children to play games on the floor, so that, willy-nilly, Oblomov should be forced to join in their sport. Presently she withdrew to the kitchen to see if the coffee was yet ready, and, meanwhile, the children’s clatter died away. Almost at once a gentle snore arose in the room--then a louder one--then one louder still; and when Agafia Matvievna returned with the steaming coffee-pot she encountered such a volume of snoring as would have done credit to a post-house.