Anton Pavlovitch looked at her kindly, and answered with a meek smile:
“I love candied fruits … don't you?”
“Very much,” the lady exclaimed gayly.
“Especially Abrikossov's,” the second agreed solidly. And the third, half closing her eyes, added with relish:
“It smells so good.”
And all three began to talk with vivacity, revealing, on the subject of candied fruit, great erudition and subtle knowledge. It was obvious that they were happy at not having to strain their minds and pretend to be seriously interested in Turks and Greeks, to whom up to that moment they had not given a thought.
When they left, they merrily promised Anton Pavlovitch:
“We will send you some candied fruit.”
“You managed that nicely,” I observed when they had gone.
Anton Pavlovitch laughed quietly and said: