"Did we wake you?" asked Samoylov, without greeting the mother, his
face gloomy and thoughtful, contrary to his wont.
"I was not asleep," she said, looking at them with expectant eyes.
Samoylov's companion took off his hat, and breathing heavily and
hoarsely said in a friendly basso, like an old acquaintance, giving
her his broad, short-fingered hand:
"Good evening, granny! You don't recognize me?"
"Is it you?" exclaimed Nilovna, with a sudden access of delight.
"Yegor Ivanovich?"
"The very same identical one!" replied he, bowing his large head
with its long hair. There was a good-natured smile on his face, and
a clear, caressing look in his small gray eyes. He was like a
samovar--rotund, short, with thick neck and short arms. His face
was shiny and glossy, with high cheek bones. He breathed noisily,
and his chest kept up a continuous low wheeze.
"Step into the room. I'll be dressed in a minute," the mother said.
"We have come to you on business," said Samoylov thoughtfully,
looking at her out of the corner of his eyes.
Yegor Ivanovich passed into the room, and from there said:
"Nikolay got out of jail this morning, granny. You know him?"
"How long was he there?" she asked.
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