I noticed that such doubts and delicate questions presented themselves more frequently at dusk (how well I remember all these details and all that golden time!). Towards dusk my old friend always became nervous, susceptible and suspicious. Natasha and I knew that and were always prepared to laugh at it beforehand. I remember I tried to cheer him up by telling him tales of Sumarokov¡Çs being made a general, of Derzhavin¡Çs having been presented with a snuff-box full of gold pieces, of how the Empress herself had visited Lomonossov; I told him about Pushkin, about Gogol.
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¡ÈYes, I have a great talent to make all sorts magnificent stoffing,¡É Herr Kruger repeated again. ¡ÈAnd I will for nothing to stoff you your dog,¡É he added in an access of magnanimous self-sacrifice.
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I realised that I wanted to go to Paris because she was there. She had said that she was going to Paris on the morrow of yesterday. The name was pleasant to me, and it turned the scale.
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¡ÈYes, that¡Çs all right,¡É he repeated mechanically, five minutes later, as though coming to himself after a long reverie. ¡ÈHm! You know, Vanya, you¡Çve always been like a son to us. God has not blessed us . . . with a son, but He has sent us you. That¡Çs what I¡Çve always thought. And my wife the same . . . yes! And you¡Çve always been tender and respectful to us, like a grateful son. God will bless you for it, Vanya, as we two old people bless and love you. . . . Yes!¡É
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