Page:The Kiss and Other Stories by Anton Tchekhoff, 1908.pdf/87

 “What a ravishing little home you have, Claudia!” said my uncle. “How sweet! How charming! Had I known that you lived in such a paradise, nothing would have induced me to spend my summers abroad in past years.”

My uncle bent in two and smelt a tulip. Everything that met his eyes inspired, it seemed, interest and delight; it was as if for the first time in life he had seen a garden and a sunny day. The strange man walked as if on springs and chattered without cease, so that my mother never spoke a word. At a corner of the path from behind an elder-bush suddenly appeared Pobiedimsky. His appearance was unexpected. My uncle started and took a step to the rear. My tutor wore his best cloak, in which, viewed from behind, he closely resembled a windmill. His air was solemn and dignified. Pressing, as a Spaniard, his hat to his breast, he took one step towards uncle and bowed, as marquises bow in melodramas — forward and a little on one side.

“I have the honour to introduce myself to your Excellency,” he said loudly. “I am a pedagogue, the tutor of your nephew, an ex-veterinary student, and a noble, Pobiedimsky!”

My tutor's polished manners pleased my mother intensely. She smiled and waited expectantly, hoping that Pobiedimsky would say something brilliant. But my tutor, who expected that his impressive greeting