'I don't understand you.'

'You don't understand me.... Oh yes, you do understand me.'

Onisim paused.

'Mr. Bublitsyn's a real gentleman--what a gentleman ought to be. But what are you, Ivan Afanasiitch, what are you? Tell me that.'

'Why, I'm a gentleman too.'

'A gentleman, indeed!' ... retorted Onisim, growing indignant. 'A pretty gentleman you are! You're no better, sir, than a hen in a shower of rain, Ivan Afanasiitch, let me tell you. Here you sit sticking at home the whole blessed day ... much good it does you, sitting at home like that! You don't play cards, you don't go and see the gentry, and as for ... well ...'

Onisim waved his hand expressively.

'Now, come ... you really go ... too far ...' Ivan Afanasiitch said hesitatingly, clutching his pipe.

'Too far, indeed, Ivan Afanasiitch, too far, you say! Judge for yourself. Here again, with Vassilissa ... why couldn't you ...'

'But what are you thinking about, Onisim,' Pyetushkov interrupted miserably.

'I know what I'm thinking about. But there--I'd better let you alone! What can you do? Only fancy ... there you ...'

Ivan Afanasiitch got up.

'There, there, if you please, yo