“It is not very handsome,” Zverkov observed majestically.

“Yes, you can’t afford to dine at cafés on that,” Ferfitchkin added insolently.

“To my thinking it’s very poor,” Trudolyubov observed gravely.

“And how thin you have grown! How you have changed!” added Zverkov, with a shade of venom in his voice, scanning me and my attire with a sort of insolent compassion.

“Oh, spare his blushes,” cried Ferfitchkin, sniggering.

“My dear sir, allow me to tell you I am not blushing,” I broke out at last; “do you hear? I am dining here, at this café, at my own expense, not at other people’s⁠—note that, Mr. Ferfitchkin.”