Madame Sipyagin rose and, with a beautiful upward quiver of her exquisite eyelashes, first smiled to him—simply—as to a friend; then held out her little hand, palm uppermost, her elbow pressed against her waist, and her head bent in the direction of her hand . . . in the attitude of a suppliant. Solomin let both husband and wife play off their little tricks upon him, shook hands with both, and took a seat at the first invitation to do so. Sipyagin began to fuss about him: 'Wouldn't he take something?' But Solomin replied that he did not want anything, wasn't in the least fatigued with the journey, and was completely at his disposal.
'You mean I may ask you to visit the factory?' cried Sipyagin, as though quite overcome, and not daring to believe in such condescension on the part of his guest.
'At once,' answered Solomin.
'Ah, how good you are! Shall I order the carriage? or perhaps you would prefer to walk? . . .'
'Why, it's not far from here, I suppose, your factory?'
'Half a mile, not more.'
'Then why order the carriage?'
'Ah, that's delightful, then! Boy, my hat, my stick, at once! And you, little missis,
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