"Blücher, fiu!" cried the count, rising; "over with him!" he added quickly. Blücher, bumping against the sofa with his back, and almost knocking the garrison officer from his feet, came leaping toward his master, looking at every one and wagging his tail as though he would ask, "Who is misbehaving here, hey?"
Lukhnof laid down the cards, and moved his chair away. "This is no way to play," said he. "I detest dogs. What kind of a game can you have if a whole pack of hounds is to be brought in?"
"Especially that kind of dog: they are called blood-suckers, if I am not mistaken," suggested the garrison officer.
"Well, are we to play or not, Mikháïlo Vasílyitch?" asked Lukhnof, addressing the uhlan.
"Don't bother us, count, I beg of you," said Ilyin, turning to Turbin.
"Come here for a moment," said Turbin, taking Ilyin's arm, and drawing him into the next room.
There the count's words were perfectly audible, though he spoke in his ordinary tone. But his voice was so powerful that it could always be heard three rooms off.
"Are you beside yourself? Don't you see that that man with the glasses is a cheat of the worst order?"
"Hey? Nonsense! Be careful what you say."
"No nonsense! but quit it, I tell you. It makes no difference to me. Another time I myself would have plucked you; but now I am sorry to see you ruining yourself. Have you any public money left?"