“So am I!”—exclaimed Ipátoff.—“What do you think of those verses, Iván Ílitch?”
Iván Ílitch, according to his wont, merely glanced at Ipátoff, but did not utter a word.
“Here, ma’am,—I have finished,”—said Vladímir Sergyéitch, as he placed an interrogation-point at the end of the last line.
Márya Pávlovna thanked him, and carried the written sheet off to her own room.
Half an hour later supper was served, and an hour later all the guests dispersed to their rooms. Vladímir Sergyéitch had repeatedly addressed Márya Pávlovna; but it was difficult to conduct a conversation with her, and his anecdotes did not seem to interest her greatly. He probably would have fallen asleep as soon as he got into bed had he not been hindered by his neighbour, Egór Kapítonitch. Matryóna Márkovna’s husband, after he was fully undressed and had got into bed, talked for a very long time with his servant, and kept bestowing reprimands on him. Every word he uttered was perfectly audible to Vladímir Sergyéitch: only a thin partition separated them.
“Hold the candle in front of thy breast,”—said Egór Kapítonitch, in a querulous voice;—“hold it so that I can see thy face. Thou hast aged me, aged me, thou conscienceless man—hast aged me completely.”
“But, for mercy’s sake, Egór Kapítonitch, how have I aged you?”—the servant’s dull and sleepy voice made itself heard.
“How? I’ll tell thee how. How many times have I said to thee: ‘Mítka,’ I have said to thee, ‘when thou goest a-visiting with me, always take two garments of each sort, especially’ ... hold the candle in front of thy breast ... ‘especially underwear.’ And what hast thou done to me to-day?”
“What, sir?”
“‘What, sir?’ What am I to put on to-morrow?”