At the hairdresser's Peredonov demanded the barber himself. The barber, a young man who had lately finished a course at the town school and who had read books from the rural library, was just finishing cutting the hair of a landed proprietor. When he had finished, he came up to Peredonov. "Let him go first," said Peredonov angrily. The man paid and left. Peredonov sat down in front of the mirror. "I want my hair trimmed and properly arranged," said he. "I have an important affair on to-day, something special, and so I want my hair arranged in the Spanish style." The boy apprentice, who stood at the door, snorted with amusement. His master looked sternly at him. He had never had occasion to trim anyone's hair in Spanish style, and did not know what the Spanish style was or even if there were such a style. But if the gentleman demanded such a thing, then it must be assumed that he knew what he wanted. The young hairdresser did not want to betray his ignorance. He said respectfully: "It's impossible to do it with your hair, sir." "Why impossible?" said Peredonov taken aback. "Your hair is badly nourished," explained the hairdresser. "Do you expect me to pour beer over it?" growled Peredonov. "Excuse me, why beer?" said the hairdresser affably. "When your hair is trimmed your head shows signs of baldness and what's left isn't enough to do the thing in the Spanish style." Peredonov felt himself crushed by the impossibility of having his hair trimmed in the Spanish style. He said dejectedly: "Well, cut it as you like." He began to wonder whether the hairdresser had been persuaded not to cut his hair in a distinguished style. He ought not to have spoken about it at home. Evidently, while he was walking gravely and sedately along the street, Volodin had run like a little sheep by back streets and had conspired with the hairdresser. "Would you like a spray, sir?" said the hairdresser, having finished trimming his hair. "Spray me with mignonette. The more, the better," demanded Peredonov. "You might at least make up by spraying me with plenty of mignonette." "I'm sorry, but we don't keep mignonette," said the hairdresser in confusion. "How will opopanax do?" "You can't do anything I want," said Peredonov bitterly. "Go ahead, and spray me with whatever you've got." He returned home in vexation. It was a windy day. The gates kept banging, yawning and laughing in the wind. Peredonov looked at them dispiritedly. How could he face the drive? But everything arranged itself. Three carriages were waiting--they had to sit down and drive away at once, in order not to attract attention. Many curiosity mongers might collect and follow them to the wedding, if the carriages waited about too long. They took their places and drove off: Peredonov with Varvara, the Prepolovenskys with Routilov, Grushina with the other bride's-men.