The windows of the house in the small glade were wide open. The twitter of birds was audible and the fresh, delicious aroma of flowers entered in. It was here the children gathered, and the miserable farce of the examination began. Doulebov stood up before an ikon on one side of the room, assumed a stately air, and exclaimed: “Children, rise to prayer.” The children rose. Doulebov thrust a finger forward towards a dark-eyed boy’s breast and shouted: “Read, boy!” The thin, shrill outcry and the movement of the finger towards the child’s breast were so unexpected by the boy that he trembled and gave a choking sound. Some one behind him laughed, another gave an amused chuckle. Doulebova exchanged glances with Kerbakh and shrugged her shoulders; her face expressed horror. The boy quickly recovered himself and read the prayer. “Sit down, children,” ordered Doulebov. The children resumed their places, while the elders seated themselves at a table in the order of their rank--the Vice-Governor and Doulebov in the middle, with the others to their right and left. Doulebova looked round with an anxious, angry expression. At last she said in a bass voice, extraordinarily coarse for a woman: “Shut the windows. The birds are making a noise, and the wind too; it is impossible to do anything.” Trirodov looked at her in astonishment. He said quietly to Nadezhda: “Close the windows. Our guests can’t stand fresh air.” The windows were shut. The children looked with melancholy tedium at the depressing window-panes. Writing exercises were given. A little tale was read aloud from a reader brought by Shabalov. Doulebov asked the class to compose it in their own words. The boys and girls were about to pick up their pens, but Doulebov stopped them and delivered a long and tedious dissertation on how to write the given composition. Then he said: “Now you can write it.” The children wrote. It was quiet. The writers handed in their papers to their instructresses. Doulebov and Shabalov looked them over there and then. They tried to find mistakes, but there were few. Then dictation was given. Doulebova looked morosely the whole while and blinked often. Trirodov tried to enter into conversation with her, but the angry dame answered so haughtily that it was with great difficulty he refrained from smiling, and finally he left the malicious woman to herself. After the written exercises Trirodov asked the uninvited guests to luncheon. “It was such a long journey here,” said Doulebov as if he were explaining why he did not refuse the invitation to eat. The children scattered a short way into the wood, while the elders went into a neighbouring house, where the luncheon was ready. The conversation during luncheon was constrained and captious. The Doulebovs tried all sorts of pinpricks and coarse insinuations; their companions followed suit. Every one tried to outdo the other in saying caustic, spiteful things.