“Yes, you’re right,” said Sarudine, growing interested in his turn, as he twirled his moustache complacently.
“Take off her corset, and the smartest Petersburg woman becomes—Oh! by the way, have you heard the latest?” said Volochine, interrupting himself.
“No, I dare say not,” replied Sarudine, leaning forward, eagerly.
“Well,” said the other, “it’s an awfully good story about a Parisian cocotte.” Then, with much wealth of detail, Volochine proceeded to relate a spicy anecdote that pleased his companion vastly.
“Yes,” said Volochine in conclusion, as he rolled his eyes, “shape’s everything in a woman. If she hasn’t got that, well, for me she simply doesn’t exist.”
Sarudine thought of Lida’s beauty, and he shrank from discussing it with Volochine. However, after a pause, he observed with much affectation:
“Every one to his taste. What I like most in a woman is the back; that sinuous line, don’t you know….”
“Yes,” drawled Volochine nervously.
“Some women, especially very young ones, have got …”
The orderly now entered treading clumsily in his heavy boots. He had come to light the lamp, and during the process of striking matches and jingling the glass shade, Sarudine and Volochine were silent.