The sisters had barely time to change for dinner. They entered the dining-room somewhat weary and distraught. They were awaited there by their father Rameyev, the two Matovs--the student Piotr Dmitrievitch and the schoolboy Misha, sons of Rameyev’s lately deceased cousin to whom Trirodov’s estate had previously belonged. The sisters spoke little at the table, and they said nothing of their day’s adventure. Yet before this they used to be frank and loved to chat, to tell the things that had happened to them. Piotr Matov, a tall, spare, pale youth with sparkling eyes, who looked like a man about to enter a prophetic school, seemed worried and irritated. His nervousness reflected itself, in embarrassed smiles and awkward movements, in Misha. The latter was a well-nourished, rosy-cheeked lad, with a quick, merry eye, but betraying his intense impressionableness. His smiling mouth trembled slightly around the corners, apparently without cause. The old Rameyev, who was more robust than tall, and had the tranquil manners of a well-trained, well-balanced individual, did not betray his impatience at his daughters’ tardy appearance, but took his place at the partially extended table, which seemed small in the middle of the immense dining-room of dark, embellished oak. Miss Harrison, unembarrassed, began to ladle out the soup; she was a plump, calm, slightly grey-haired woman, the personification of a successful household. Rameyev noticed that his daughters were tired. A vague alarm stirred within him. But he quickly extinguished this tiny spark of displeasure, smiled tenderly at his daughters, and said very quietly, as if cautiously hinting at something: “You have walked a little too far, my dears.” There was a short but awkward silence; then, in order to soften the hidden significance of his words and to ease his daughters’ embarrassment, he added: “I see you don’t ride horseback as much as you used to.” After this he turned to the eldest of the brothers: “Well, Petya, have you brought any news from town?” The sisters felt uneasy. They tried to take part in the conversation. This was in those days when the red demon of murder was prowling in our native land, and his terrible deeds brought discord and hate into the bosom of peaceful families. The young people in this house, as elsewhere, often talked and wrangled about what had happened and what was yet to be. For all their wrangling, they could not reach any agreement. Friendship from childhood and good breeding mitigated to some extent this antagonism of ideas. But more than once their discussions ended in bitter words.