“What do you want, then? That I should work and not eat anything?”
“No, I do not wish you not to eat. I only wish that we should all work and all eat.” He could not help smiling as he said it.
Again raising her brow and drooping her eyeballs his aunt looked at him curiously. “Mon cher vous finirez mal,” she said.
Just then the general, and former minister, Countess Tcharsky’s husband, a tall, broad-shouldered man, came into the room.
“Ah, Dmitri, how d’you do?” he said, turning his freshly-shaved cheek to Nekhludoff to be kissed. “When did you get here?” And he silently kissed his wife on the forehead.
“Non il est impayable,” the Countess said, turning to her husband. “He wants me to go and wash clothes and live on potatoes. He is an awful fool, but all the same do what he is going to ask of you. A terrible simpleton,” she added. “Have you heard? Kamenskaya is in such despair that they fear for her life,” she said to her husband. “You should go and call there.”
“Yes; it is dreadful,” said her husband.
“Go along, then, and talk to him. I must write some letters.”
Hardly had Nekhludoff stepped into the room next the drawing-room than she called him back.
“Shall I write to Mariette, then?”