“He never drinks,” the Count said. “Don't force him to.”
“But surely you can drink something!”
The Pole put a large bit of sturgeon into his mouth and shook his head negatively. His silence incensed me.
“I say, Kaetan … what's your patronymic?… why are you always silent?” I asked him. “I have not had the pleasure of hearing your voice as yet.”
His two eyebrows that resembled the outstretched wings of a swallow were raised and he gazed at me.
“Do you wish me to speak?” he asked with a strong Polish accent.
“Very much.”
“Why do you wish it?”
“Why, indeed! On board steamers at dinner strangers and people who are not acquainted converse together, and here are we, who have known one another for several hours, looking at each other and not exchanging a single word! What does that look like?”
The Pole remained silent.