“And in all other things,” continued the count. “I go about a great deal, and many come to me, and, would you believe it? I know nothing of what I used to know before. Phylia was high in favour, every one sought his patronage, but now, …” the count was silent and thoughtful.
“See there!” thought Cabanoff, looking at him, “with that strength, those riches, to be thus slighted.”
“Ah! yes, old man,” continued Orloff, “hard times are come. I feel as if between two millstones. My services are ended; no one requires them any more, and here, at home, there is nothing but ennui.”
“Count, fire purifies gold,” answered Terentitch, “misfortune, man. Wood won’t burn without shavings.… I might look out for some for you.”
“What?”
“Get married, your Grace.”
“Oh! well, prate about that to others, but not to me,” answered Chesmenski, remembering that Konsov had given him the same advice not long before.