lost among a crowd of noble houses of more recent creation.
For a few moments Oblomov remained too plunged in thought to notice Zakhar's presence; but at length the valet coughed.
"What do you want? " Oblomov inquired.
"You called me just now, barin[1]? "
"I called you, you say? Well, I cannot remember why I did so. Return to your room until I have remembered."
Zakhar retired, and Oblomov spent another quarter of an hour in thinking over the accursed letter.
"I have lain here long enough," at last he said to himself. "Really, I must rise. . . . But suppose I were to read the letter through carefully and then to rise? Zakhar!"
Zakhar re-entered, and Oblomov straightway sank into a reverie. For a minute or two the valet stood eyeing his master with covert resentment. Then he moved towards the door.
"Why are you going away?" Oblomov asked suddenly.
"Because, barin, you have nothing to say to me. Why should I stand here for nothing?"
- ↑ "Master" or "sir."
