"Fine eggs!" she said. "Where do you get them?" Peredonov replied: "They're not bad, but on my father's estate there was a hen that laid two large eggs every day all the year round." "That's nothing to boast of," said Prepolovenskaya; "now in our village there was a hen that laid two eggs every day and a spoonful of butter." "Yes, yes, we had one like that too," said Peredonov, not noticing that he was being made fun of. "If others could do it, ours did it too. We had an exceptional hen." Varvara laughed. "They're having a little joke," she said. "Such nonsense makes one's ears wither!" said Grushina. Peredonov looked at her savagely and replied: "If your ears wither they'll have to be pulled off!" Grushina was disconcerted. "Well, Ardalyon Borisitch, you're always saying something nasty," she complained. The others laughed appreciatively. Volodin opened his eyes wide, twitched his forehead and explained: "When your ears start withering it's best to pull them off, because if you don't they'll dangle and swing to and fro." Volodin made a gesture with his fingers to indicate how the withered ears would dangle. Grushina snapped at him: "That's the sort you are. You can't make a joke yourself. You have to use other people's." Volodin was offended and said with dignity: "I can make a joke myself, Maria Ossipovna, but when we're having a pleasant time in company, why shouldn't I keep up someone else's joke? And if you don't like it, you can do what you please. Give and take." "That's reasonable, Pavel Vassilyevitch," said Routilov encouragingly. "Pavel Vassilyevitch can stand up for himself," said Prepolovenskaya with a sly smile. Varvara had just cut off a piece of bread and, absorbed by Volodin's ingenious remarks, held the knife in the air. The edge glittered. Peredonov felt a sudden fear--she might suddenly take it into her head to slash him. "Varvara!" he exclaimed. "Put that knife down!" Varvara shivered. "Why do you shout so? You frightened me," she said, and put the knife down. "He has his whims, you know," she went on, speaking to the silent Prepolovensky, who was stroking his beard and apparently about to speak. "That sometimes happens," said Prepolovensky; "I had an acquaintance who was afraid of needles. He was always imagining that someone was going to stick a needle into him and that the needle would enter his inside. Just imagine how frightened he would get when he saw a needle----" And once he had begun to speak he was quite unable to stop, and went on telling the same story with different variations until someone interrupted him and changed the subject. Then he lapsed again into silence. Grushina changed the conversation to erotic themes. She began to relate how her deceased husband was jealous of her, and how she deceived him. Afterwards she told a story she had heard from an acquaintance in the capital about the mistress of a certain eminent personage who met her patron while driving in the street.