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"Yes, inform her. Here, take the telegram; give it to her, and

then do what she tells you."

"You want to try it on," Matvey understood, but he only said,

"Yes, sir."

Stepan Arkadyevitch was already washed and combed and ready to be

dressed, when Matvey, stepping deliberately in his creaky boots,

came back into the room with the telegram in his hand. The barber

had gone.

"Darya Alexandrovna told me to inform you that she is going away.

Let him do-that is you-as he likes," he said, laughing only with

his eyes, and putting his hands in his pockets, he watched his

master with his head on one side. Stepan Arkadyevitch was silent

a minute. Then a good-humored and rather pitiful smile showed

itself on his handsome face.

"Eh, Matvey?" he said, shaking his head.

"It's all right, sir; she will come round," said Matvey.

"Come round?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think so? Who's there?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch,

hearing the rustle of a woman's dress at the door.