He found some lads had assembled there and were playing cards and
smoking. He watched them awhile, frowningly.
"This is stupid! You will set the place alight," he grumbled.
"What if we do?" the men answered sulkily. "It is for you to defend
other people's property?"
"Not other peoples'--ours!" he retorted, then turned away.
"Ivan!" they shouted after him; "have you the wine-cellar key? There
are spirits in there--if you don't give it to us, we shall break
in...."
The house was dark and silent. The huge, spacious apartments seemed
strange, terrible. The Prince still occupied the drawing-room. Ivan
entered his office--formerly the dining-room--and lighted a lamp. He
went down on his knees and began to pick up the clods of earth that
lay on the floor; he threw them out of the window, then fetched a
brush and swept up. He could not understand why gentlemen's boots did
not leave a trail of dirt behind them.
Then he went into the drawing-room and served the final notice on the
Prince while the men were accommodating themselves in the kitchen.
Then he joined them, lying down on a form without undressing. After a
long time he fell asleep.
He awoke the next morning while all were still sleeping, rose and
walked round the manor. The lads were still playing cards in the
stable.
"Why aren't you asleep?" one of them asked him.
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