“What?” Pyotr Stepanovitch was startled, but instantly controlled himself. “What huffiness! So we are in a savage temper?” he rapped out, still with the same offensive superciliousness. “At such a moment composure is what you need. The best thing you can do is to consider yourself a Columbus and me a mouse, and not to take offence at anything I say. I gave you that advice yesterday.”

“I don’t want to look upon you as a mouse.”

“What’s that, a compliment? But the tea is cold⁠—and that shows that everything is topsy-turvy. Bah! But I see something in the window, on a plate.” He went to the window. “Oh oh, boiled chicken and rice!⁠ ⁠… But why haven’t you begun upon it yet? So we are in such a state of mind that even chicken⁠ ⁠…”

“I’ve dined, and it’s not your business. Hold your tongue!”