"Oh, I am not surprised," said Paul Petrovitch. "On the contrary, I should not mind embracing him myself."
And Arkady, on approaching his uncle, felt once more upon his cheek the impression of a perfumed moustache. Paul Petrovitch then sat down to table. Clad in an elegant morning suit of English cut, he was flaunting on his head a diminutive fez which helped the carelessly folded tie to symbolise the freedom of a country life. At the same time, the stiff collar of the shirt (which was striped, not white, as best befitted a matutinal toilet) supported with its usual rigour an immaculately shaven chin.
"Well, Arkady?" said he. "Where is your new friend?"
"Out somewhere. He seldom misses going for an early morning walk. But the great thing is to take no notice of him, for he detests all ceremony."
"So I have perceived." And with his usual deliberateness Paul Petrovitch began to butter a piece of bread. "Will he be staying here very long?"
"Well, as long as he may care to stay. As a matter of fact, he is going on to his father's place."
"And where does his father live?"
"Some eighty versts from here, in the same province as ourselves. I believe he has a small property, and used to be an army doctor."
"H'm! Ever since last night I have been asking myself where I can have heard the name before. Nikolai, do you remember whether there was a doctor of that name in our father's division?"
"Yes, there used to be."