pretty, and in answer to her question whether they would have any tea, he said she might bring them some tea, but the chief thing was that their own supper not being ready yet, perhaps they might have some vodka and something to eat, and some sherry if there was any.
The uncle was in raptures over the young Count’s politeness, and praised the new generation of officers to the skies, saying that the present men were incomparably superior to the former generation.
Anna Fyódorovna did not agree—no one could be better than Count Fyódor Ivánitch Toúrbin—and at last she grew seriously angry, and drily remarked, “The one who has last stroked you, brother, is always the best. … Of course people are cleverer nowadays, but Count Fyódor Ivánitch danced the ecossaise in such a way, and was so amiable, that everybody lost their heads