"And you too, Akim Petrovitch, drink a glass to their health," added the mother, addressing the head clerk. "You are his superior, he is under you. Look after my boy, I beg you as a mother. And don't forget us in the future, our good, kind friend, Akim Petrovitch."
"How nice these old Russian women are," thought Ivan Ilyitch. "She has livened us all up. I have always loved the democracy...."
At that moment another tray was brought to the table; it was brought in by a maid wearing a crackling cotton dress that had never been washed, and a crinoline. She could hardly grasp the tray in both hands, it was so big. On it there were numbers of plates of apples, sweets, fruit meringues and fruit cheeses, walnuts and so on, and so on. The tray had been till then in the drawing-room for the delectation of all the guests, and especially the ladies. But now it was brought to the general alone.
"Do not disdain our humble fare, your Excellency. What we have we are pleased to offer," the old lady repeated, bowing.
"Delighted!" said Ivan Ilyitch, and with real pleasure took a walnut and cracked it between his fingers. He had made up his mind to win popularity at all costs.
Meantime the bride suddenly giggled.
"What is it?" asked Ivan Ilyitch with a smile, encouraged by this sign of life.
"Ivan Kostenkinitch, here, makes me laugh," she answered, looking down.
The general distinguished, indeed, a flaxen-headed young man, exceedingly good-looking, who was sitting on a chair at the other end of the sofa, whispering something to Madame Pseldonimov. The young man stood up. He was apparently very young and very shy.
"I was telling the lady about a 'dream book,' your Excellency," he muttered as though apologising.