Eugene found his mother contented and in good spirits. She was getting everything straight in the house and preparing to go away herself as soon as he brought his young wife. Eugene persuaded her to stay for the time being, and the future remained undecided.
In the evening after tea Mary Pavlovna played patience as usual. Eugene sat by, helping her. This was the hour of their most intimate talks. Having finished one game of patience and while preparing to begin another, Mary Pavlovna looked up at Eugene and, with a little hesitation, began thus:
"I wanted to tell you, Jenya,—of course I do not know, but in general I wanted to suggest to you that before your wedding it is absolutely necessary to have finished with all your bachelor affairs, so that nothing may disturb either you or your wife. God forbid that it should. You understand me?"
And indeed Eugene at once understood that Mary Pavlovna was hinting at his relations with Stepanida which had ended in the previous autumn; and that she attributed much more importance to those relations than they deserved, as single women always do. Eugene blushed, and not from shame so much as from vexation that good-natured Mary Pavlovna was bothering—out of affection no doubt—but still was bothering about matters that were not her business and that she did not and could not understand. He answered that he had nothing that needed concealment, and that he had always conducted himself so that there should be nothing to hinder his marrying.
"Well, dear, that is excellent. Only, Jenya, don't be vexed with me," said Mary Pavlovna, in confusion.
But Eugene saw that she had not finished and had not said what she wanted to. So it appeared when a little later she began to tell him of how, in his absence, she had been asked to stand godmother at . . . the Pechnikovs.
Eugene flushed now, not with vexation or shame, but with some strange consciousness of the importance of what was about to be told him—an involuntary consciousness quite at variance with his conclusions. And what he expected happened. Mary Pavlovna, as if merely by way of conversation, mentioned that this year only boys were being born,—evidently a sign of a coming war. Both at the Vasins and the Pechnikovs the young wife had a first child—at each house a boy. Mary Pavlovna wanted to say this casually, but she herself felt ashamed when she saw the colour mount to her son's face and saw him nervously removing, tapping, and replacing his pince-nez and hurriedly lighting a cigarette. She became silent. He too was silent and could not think how to break that silence. So they both understood that they had understood one another.
"Yes, the chief thing is that there should be justice and no favouritism in the village,—as under your grandfather."
"Mamma,"—said Eugene suddenly,—"I know why you are saying this. You have no need to be disturbed. My future family-life is so sacred to me that I should not infringe it in any case. And as to what occurred in my bachelor days, that is quite ended. I never formed any union and no one has any claims on me."
"Well, I am glad," said his mother. "I know how noble your feelings are."