The count was much excited by this and demanded immediately how they were going to spend the money they had brought with them. If there was no more champagne, they should have to drink vodka, but first they must play skittles with the empty bottles that were not already broken to pieces. He picked a circular cheese from the table and bowled it across the room.
"Encore du fromage! Encore du fromage!" everybody was shouting, and soon everywhere crimson cheeses were rolling along the floor.
"The cheeses belong to me," the count cried. "Nobody else is to order cheeses. Garçon! garçon! bring me all the cheeses you have. The cheeses are mine. Mine! Mine!"
His voice rose to a scream.
"Mon Dieu! ils vont se battre à cause du fromage" cried the other girl, holding her hand to her eyes and cowering in her chair.
By this time the management thought it would soon lose what it had made that evening and ordered the cabaret to be closed. The girls, who were anxious to escape, ran to be paid for their champagne. Sylvia swayed and nearly fell in the rush; her companion kept her head and exacted from the management every copeck. Then she dragged Sylvia with her to a droshky, put her in, and said good night.
"Tu ne viens pas avec moi?" Sylvia cried.
"Non, non, il faut que j'aille avec lui."
"Avec l'homme qui te regardait du loge?"
"Non, non, avec mon ami."