“I don't know, your Excellency.… I don't occupy myself with that.…”
“There are, your Excellency,” broke in the deep bass voice of one-eyed Kuz'ma, who had been silent all the time. “And quite worth notice, too.”
“Are they pretty?”
“There are all sorts, your Excellency, for all tastes … There are dark ones and fair ones—all sorts.…”
“O, ho!… Stop a minute, stop a minute.… I remember you now.… My former Leporello, a sort of secretary.… Your name's Kuz'ma, I think?”
“Yes, your Excellency.…”
“I remember, I remember.… Well, and what have you now in view? Something new, all peasant girls?”
“Mostly peasants, of course, but there are finer ones, too.…”
“Where have you found finer ones …” Il'ya asked, winking at Kuz'ma.
“At Easter the postman's sister-in-law came to stay with him … Nastasia Ivanovna.… A girl all on springs. I myself would like to eat her, but money is wanted.… Cheeks like peaches, and all the rest as good.… There's something finer than that, too. It's only waiting for you, your Excellency. Young, plump, jolly … a beauty! Such a beauty, your Excellency, as you've scarcely found in Petersburg.…”