"They are saying we are the best of the Slavs," answered the fat man, with a giggle.
"They are such flatterers," declared the lady, but red-haired John put away his watch and, twisting his moustache with both hands, said, in an off-hand way:
"They are all amazingly ignorant about everything that concerns us."
"You are being praised," said the fat man, "and you say it is due to ignorance." "Nonsense! That is not what I mean, but generally speaking.... I know myself that we are the best of Slavs."
The man with the side-whiskers, who for some time had been attentively watching the porpoises at play, sighed and, shaking his head, remarked:
"What a stupid fish!"
Two more persons joined the greyhaired Italian: an old bespectacled man in a black frock-coat and a pale youth with long hair, a high forehead and dark eyebrows. They all stood at the gunwale about five yards from the Russians; the grey-haired man said quietly:
"When I see Russians I think of Messina."
"Do you remember how we met the sailors at Naples?" asked the youth.
"Yes, they will never forget that day in their forests!"