"About the flat, you mean? I'll think it over, I'll think it over."
"Well, when you have made up your mind, let me know as soon as possible."
"Still on business?" Mr. Pralinsky observed affably, in a slightly ingratiating tone, playing with his hat. It seemed to him as though they were forgetting him.
Stepan Nikiforovitch raised his eyebrows and remained mute, as a sign that he would not detain his visitors. Semyon Ivanovitch made haste to bow himself out.
"Well ... after that what is one to expect ... if you don't understand the simple rules of good manners...." Mr. Pralinsky reflected to himself, and held out his hand to Stepan Nikiforovitch in a particularly offhand way.
In the hall Ivan Ilyitch wrapped himself up in his light, expensive fur coat; he tried for some reason not to notice Semyon Ivanovitch's shabby raccoon, and they both began descending the stairs.
"The old man seemed offended," said Ivan Ilyitch to the silent Semyon Ivanovitch.
"No, why?" answered the latter with cool composure.
"Servile flunkey," Ivan Ilyitch thought to himself.
They went out at the front door. Semyon Ivanovitch's sledge with a grey ugly horse drove up.