“Brandy’s better than anything,” boomed Yashvin. “Tereshtchenko! brandy for your master and cucumbers,” he shouted, obviously taking pleasure in the sound of his own voice.

“Brandy, do you think? Eh?” queried Petritsky, blinking and rubbing his eyes. “And you’ll drink something? All right then, we’ll have a drink together! Vronsky, have a drink?” said Petritsky, getting up and wrapping the tiger-skin rug round him. He went to the door of the partition wall, raised his hands, and hummed in French, “There was a king in Thule.” “Vronsky, will you have a drink?”

“Go along,” said Vronsky, putting on the coat his valet handed to him.

“Where are you off to?” asked Yashvin. “Oh, here are your three horses,” he added, seeing the carriage drive up.

“To the stables, and I’ve got to see Bryansky, too, about the horses,” said Vronsky.