"That's the way I'll do," said Nekhliudof to himself with a pleasant self-consciousness; and then, recollecting that he had still to go to the rich peasant Dutlof, he directed his steps toward a lofty and ample establishment, with two chimneys, standing in the midst of the village. As he passed a neighboring hut on his way thither, he stopped to speak with a tall, disorderly-looking peasant-woman of forty summers, who came to meet him. "A pleasant holiday, father," she said, with some show of assurance, stopping at a little distance from him with a pleased smile and a low obeisance. "Good-morning, my nurse. How are you? I was just going to see your neighbor." "Pretty well, your excellency, my father. It's a good idea. But won't you come in? I beg you to. My old man would be very pleased." "Well, I'll come; and we'll have a little talk with you, nurse. Is this your house?" "It is, sir." And...