“And what are you going to have for dinner?”
“Our food is very good. First course, bread and kvas; [kvas is a kind of sour, non-intoxicant beer made of rye] second course, kvas and bread,” said the old woman, showing her teeth, which were half worn away.
“No,” seriously; “let me see what you are going to eat.”
“To eat?” said the old man, laughing. “Ours is not a very cunning meal. You just show him, wife.”
“Want to see our peasant food? Well, you are an inquisitive gentleman, now I come to look at you. He wants to know everything. Did I not tell you bread and kvas and then we’ll have soup. A woman brought us some fish, and that’s what the soup is made of, and after that, potatoes.”
“Nothing more?”
“What more do you want? We’ll also have a little milk,” said the old woman, looking towards the door. The door stood open, and the passage outside was full of people—boys, girls, women with babies—thronged together to look at the strange gentleman who wanted to see the peasants’ food. The old woman seemed to pride herself on the way she behaved with a gentleman.
“Yes, it’s a miserable life, ours; that goes without saying, sir,” said the old man. “What are you doing there?” he shouted to those in the passage. “Well, good-bye,” said Nekhludoff, feeling ashamed and uneasy, though unable to account for the feeling.
“Thank you kindly for having looked us up,” said the old man.
The people in the passage pressed closer together to let Nekhludoff pass, and he went out and continued his way up the street.