Ivan got up slowly, yawned, stretched himself, rubbed his eyes; then, taking a tumbler off the dresser, he leisurely filled it with water.
“And where am I to get the silver salver?” said he.
“That’s in keeping of Matwei the buffetshik,” observed the table-decker.
“And where is Matwei to be found?”
“Here you, Vatka,” pursued the valet, turning to another attendant, who was busy over his basin of kwas, “go you to Matwei and tell him that we want a silver salver on which to carry a tumbler, for my lady’s fainting up stairs, and my lord is calling for water.”
A loud ring from above was heard, as if to enforce the order. “Sei tshas! sei tshas!—directly, directly!” called out Vatka; but he nevertheless finished his kwas, and wiped his mouth before he went to Matwei the butler to procure the silver salver on which Ivan the footman would carry the tumbler of water which Paul the valet had been ordered to bring.
Before all was ready another messenger came to tell Ilia the bearded coachman to put to the horses, for the lady was ready for her drive. It was evident that she had managed to recover from her fainting fit without the aid of the glass of water,—a happy thing for one who had the misfortune to keep fifty or sixty servants.
Wisky laughed at my look of surprise. “I believe that one pair of hands,” said he, “often serve better than a dozen. The Russian proverb says that ‘directly’ means to-morrow morning, and ‘this minute’ this day week.”
With quiet night came our feasting-time, and when the kitchen was deserted by the crowds of servants, Whiskerandos, Wisky, and I, crept softly out of our hole, provided with pretty sharp appetites for our meal.
“I am curious to taste that liquor which you call kwas,” said I; “Vatka seemed to relish it exceedingly.”