“Piótr? Well, he’s in a bad way.”
Mr. Flitch rolled up his small, foxy eyes, and heaved a sigh.
“Why, what’s the matter?”—asked Vladímir Sergyéitch.
“He has taken to dissipation! He’s a ruined man.”
“But where is he now?”
“It is absolutely unknown where he is. He went off somewhere or other after a gipsy girl; that’s the most certain thing of all. He’s not in this government, I’ll guarantee that.”
“And does old Ipátoff still live there?”
“Mikhaíl Nikoláitch? That eccentric old fellow? Yes, he still lives there.”
“And is everything in his household ... as it used to be?”
“Certainly, certainly. Here now, why don’t you marry his sister-in-law? She’s not a woman, you know, she’s simply a monument, really. Ha, ha! People have already been talking among us ... ‘why,’ say they....”