“Well, that’s all right!” Maria Nikolaevna decided at last. “I know your estate now … as well as you do. What price do you suggest per soul?” (At that time, as every one knows, the prices of estates were reckoned by the souls living as serfs on them.) “Well … I imagine … I could not take less than five hundred roubles for each,” Sanin articulated with difficulty. O Pantaleone, Pantaleone, where were you! This was when you ought to have cried again, “Barbari!” Maria Nikolaevna turned her eyes upwards as though she were calculating. “Well?” she said at last. “I think there’s no harm in that price. But I reserved for myself two days’ grace, and you must wait till to-morrow. I imagine we shall come to an arrangement, and then you will tell me how much you want paid down. And now, _basta cosi_!” she cried, noticing Sanin was about to make some reply. “We’ve spent enough time over filthy lucre … _à demain les affaires_. Do you know what, I’ll let you go now … (she glanced at a little enamelled watch, stuck in her belt) … till three o’clock … I must let you rest. Go and play roulette.” “I never play games of chance,” observed Sanin. “Really? Why, you’re a paragon. Though I don’t either. It’s stupid throwing away one’s money when one’s no chance. But go into the gambling saloon, and look at the faces. Very comic ones there are there. There’s one old woman with a rustic headband and a moustache, simply delicious! Our prince there’s another, a good one too. A majestic figure with a nose like an eagle’s, and when he puts down a _thaler_, he crosses himself under his waistcoat. Read the papers, go a walk, do what you like, in fact. But at three o’clock I expect you … _de pied ferme_. We shall have to dine a little earlier. The theatre among these absurd Germans begins at half-past six. She held out her hand. “_Sans rancune, n’est-ce pas?_” “Really, Maria Nikolaevna, what reason have I to be annoyed?” “Why, because I’ve been tormenting you. Wait a little, you’ll see. There’s worse to come,” she added, fluttering her eyelids, and all her dimples suddenly came out on her flushing cheeks. “Till we meet!” Sanin bowed and went out. A merry laugh rang out after him, and in the looking-glass which he was passing at that instant, the following scene was reflected: Maria Nikolaevna had pulled her husband’s fez over his eyes, and he was helplessly struggling with both hands. XXXVIII