“There now, you see. Is not this better than that hut with the cockroaches?” said the Count, lying down as he was, in his dusty boots, on the bed that had been made for him.
“It’s better, of course it is; but still, to be indebted to the owners …”
“Eh, what nonsense! One must be practical in all things. They’re awfully pleased, I’m sure … Eh, you there!” he cried, “ask for something to hang over this window, or it will be draughty in the night.”
At this moment the old man came in to make the officers’ acquaintance. Of course he did not omit to say, though he did it with a slight blush, that he and the old Count had been comrades, that he had enjoyed the Count’s favour, and he even added that he had more than once been under obligations to the deceased. What obligations he referred to, whether it was the omission to repay the hundred roubles the Count had borrowed, or his throwing him into a snow-heap, or swearing at him, the old man quite omitted to explain. The young Count was very polite to the old cavalryman, and thanked him for the night’s lodging.
“You must excuse us if it is not luxurious, Count,” (he very nearly said “your excellency,” so unaccustomed had he become to conversing with important persons), “my sister’s house is so small. But we’ll hang something up there directly and it will be all right,” added the old man, and on the plea of seeing about a curtain, but chiefly because he was in a hurry to give an account of the officers, he bowed and left the room.
The pretty Oustúshka came in with her mistress’s shawl to cover the window, and besides, the mistress had told her to ask if the gentlemen would not like some tea.
The pleasant surroundings seemed to have a good influence on the Count’s spirits. He smiled merrily, joked with Oustúshka in such a way that she even called him a scamp, asked her whether her young lady was