CHAPTER XVII.
The door opened slowly, and bending to pass through, Rybin strode in heavily.
"Here I am!" he said, raising his head and smiling.
He wore a short fur overcoat, all stained with tar, a pair of dark mittens stuck from his belt, and his head was covered with a shaggy fur cap.
"Are you well?
Have they let you out of prison, Pavel?
So, how are you, Nilovna ?" "Why, you?
How glad I am to see you!" Slowly removing his overclothes, Rybin said: "Yes, I've turned muzhik again.

You're gradually turning gentlemen, and I am turning the other way.

That's it!" Pulling his ticking shirt straight, he passed through the room, examined it attentively, and remarked: "You can see your property has not increased, but you've grown richer in books.

So! That's the dearest possession, books are, it's true.
Well, tell me how things are going with you." "Things are going forward," said Pavel.
"Yes," said Rybin.
"We plow and we sow, All high and low, Boasting is cheap, But the harvest we reap, A feast we'll make, And a rest we'll take." "Will you have some tea ?" asked the mother.
"Yes, I'll have some tea, and I'll take a sip of vodka, too; and if you'll give me something to eat, I won't decline it, either.

I am glad to see you--that's what!" "How's the world wagging with you, Mikhail Ivanych ?" Pavel inquired, taking a seat opposite Rybin.
"So, so.