"Excuse me, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Volodin, hotly. "Likely enough you've heard about it, but you haven't heard the right story. Now I'll tell you exactly what happened." "Fire away," said Peredonov. "It happened three days ago, about this time," began Volodin. "In our school, as you know, repairs are going on in the workroom. And here, if you please, comes in Veriga with our inspector to look around, and we are working in the back room. So far, good. It doesn't matter what Veriga wanted or why he came--that's no concern of mine. Suppose he is a nobleman? Still he's no connection with our school. But that's no concern of mine. He comes in, and we don't take any notice of him and go on working. When suddenly they come into our room, and Veriga, if you please, has his hat on." "That was an insult to you," said Peredonov. "But you must know," interrupted Volodin, eagerly. "There's an ikon in our room, and we had our hats off. And he suddenly appears like a Mohammedan dog. And I up and said to him quietly, and with great dignity: 'Your Excellency,' I say to him, 'Will you be good enough to take your hat off, because,' I say to him, 'there's an ikon in the room.' Now, was that the right thing to say?" asked Volodin, opening his eyes, questioningly. "That was clever, Pavloushka," shouted Peredonov. "He got what he deserved." "Yes, that was quite proper," chimed in Varvara. "People like that shouldn't be let off. You're a smart young fellow, Pavel Vassilyevitch." Volodin, with an air of injured innocence, went on: "And then he says to me: 'Each to his trade.' Then he turns and goes out. That's all there was to it and nothing else." Volodin nevertheless felt himself a hero. Peredonov, to mollify him, gave him a caramel. A new visitor arrived--Sofya Efimovna Prepolovenskaya, the wife of the forester, a fat woman, with a face half good-natured, half cunning--brisk in her movements. She sat down at the table and asked Volodin slyly: "Pavel Vassilyevitch, why do you come so often to visit Varvara Dmitrievna?" "I don't come to visit Varvara Dmitrievna," answered Volodin bashfully, "but to see Ardalyon Borisitch." "You haven't yet fallen in love with anyone?" asked Prepolovenskaya with a laugh. Everyone knew Volodin was looking for a wife with a dowry, offered himself to many and was always rejected. Prepolovenskaya's joke seemed to him out of place. In a manner resembling that of an injured sheep, he said in a trembling voice: "If I fell in love, Sofya Efimovna, that wouldn't concern anyone except my own self and her. And in such an affair you wouldn't be considered." But Prepolovenskaya refused to be suppressed. "Suppose," she said, "that you fell in love with Varvara Dmitrievna, who would make jam tarts for Ardalyon Borisitch?" Volodin again protruded his lips and lifted his eyebrows. He was at a loss what to say.