"I have had all I want," he replied. He called the cow-herd. The man
came out, stood still, scratched his head, and swore angrily--
indignant at being aroused.
"Don't meddle in other people's affairs," he grunted. "I know when to
wake."
The dawn was fine, clear and chilly. A light appeared in the drawing-
room, and Ivan saw the Prince go out, cross the terrace and depart
into the Steppe.
At ten o'clock, the President entered the office, and set about what
was, in his opinion, a torturous, useless business--the making out an
inventory of the wheat and rye in each peasant's possession. It was
useless because he knew, as did everyone in the village, how much
each man had; it was torturous because it entailed such a great deal
of writing.
Prince Prozorovsky had risen at daybreak. The sun glared fiercely
over the bare autumn-swept park and into the drawing-room windows.
The wedding cry of the ravens echoed through the autumnal stillness
that hung broodingly over the Steppe.
On such a dazzling golden day as this, the Prince's ancestors had set
off with their blood-hounds in by-gone days. In this house a whole
generation had lived--now the old family was forced to leave it--for
ever!
A red notice--"The Bielokonsky Committee of the Poor"--had been
affixed to the front door the previous evening, and the intruders had
bustled all night arranging something in the hall.
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