The Petty Demon by Fyodor Sologub Page A

yet? No, just imagine the kind of mug
     she’ll pull if you bring home a young wife.”
    Peredonov produced a brief and fitful roar of laughter, but almost immediately frowned and said:
    “But maybe they don’t want to.”
    “What do you mean they don’t want to, you strange fellow!” Rutilov replied. “I’m giving you my word.”
    “They’re arrogant,” Peredonov sought an excuse.
    “What do you care! So much the better.”
    “They make fun of people.”
    “But not of you,” Rutilov tried to convince him.
    “How am I to know that!”
    “You just believe me, I won’t deceive you. They respect you. You’re not just any kind of Pavlushka that people can make fun
     of you.”
    “Sure, I believe you,” Peredonov said mistrustfully. “No, I want to assure myself that they don’t make fun of me.”
    “What a strange fellow,” Rutilov said in amazement. “How would they dare to make fun of you? But, nevertheless, how do you
     want to assure yourself?”
    Peredonov thought for a while and then said:
    “Have them come outside right now.”
    “All right, that can be done,” Rutilov agreed.
    “All three of them,” Peredonov continued.
    “All right.”
    “And have each one say how she would try and please me.”
    “But whatever for?” Rutilov asked in amazement.
    “Then I’ll see what they want, otherwise you might be leading me around by the nose,” Peredonov explained.
    “No one is leading you around by the nose.”
    “Maybe they want to make fun of me,” Peredonov reasoned. “But if you have them come out and they want to make fun of me, then
     I’ll be able to make fun of them.”
    Rutilov thought for a moment, pushed his hat back on his head and then forward on his forehead and finally said:
    “Well, wait here, I’ll go and tell them. What a strange chap! Only in the meantime you go into the yard, otherwise who knows
     who the devil might come along the street and see.”
    “I don’t give a damn,” Peredonov said, but still he followed Rutilov in through the gate.
    Rutilov headed for the house and his sisters while Peredonov remained waiting in the yard.
    All four sisters were sitting in the living room, the corner room that faced the gate. They were all the image of each other
     and resembled the brother. They were all attractive, rosy cheeked and gay: Larisa, married, calm, pleasant and plump; Darya,
     fidgety, quick, the tallest and most slender of the sisters; Lyudmila, easily amused; and Valeriya, small, delicate and fragile
     to look at. They were treating themselves to nuts and raisins and obviously were waiting in anticipation of something because
     they weremore excited and laughing more than usual, recalling the latest town gossip and making fun of both people they knew as well
     as strangers.
    As early as the morning they had been ready to head for the altar. All that remained was to put on a dress that was appropriate
     for getting married in and pin on a veil and flowers. The sisters did not bring up Varvara in their conversations, as though
     she didn’t even exist. But the very fact that they were usually so merciless in their; mockery and picked everyone to pieces,
     and nevertheless hadn’t so much as whispered a single word about Varvara all day, that alone proved that the awkward thought
     was haunting each of the sisters.
    “I brought him!” Rutilov announced as he entered the living room. “He’s standing at the gate.”
    The sisters stood up in excitement and started to laugh and talk all at once.
    “Only there’s a hitch,” Rutilov said, chuckling.
    “What do you mean?” Darya asked.
    Valeriya knitted her beautiful dark brows in annoyance.
    “I hardly know whether to tell you,” Rutilov said.
    “Well, come, come!” Darya rushed him.
    It was with some embarrassment that Rutilov explained what Peredonov wanted. The young ladies raised a cry and took turns
     in abusing Peredonov. But little by little their cries of displeasure were replaced with jokes