The Count did not even add up his winnings, but rose immediately the game was over, went over to the window near which Lisa, setting the table for supper, was turning pickled mushrooms out of a jar on to a plate and arranging the zakoúska , and there quite quietly and simply did what the Cornet had all that evening so longed but failed to do—he entered into conversation with her about the weather.
Meanwhile the Cornet was in a very unpleasant position. In the absence of the Count, and especially of Lisa, who had been keeping her in good humour, Anna Fyódorovna became frankly angry.
“Really it is too bad that we have won from you in this way,” said Pólozof, in order to say something; “it is a real shame!”
“Well, of course, if you go and invent some kind of ‘tables’ and ‘ misères ’! I don’t know how to play them. … Well then, how much does it come to in ‘assignations’?” she asked.
“Thirty-two roubles, thirty-two and a quarter,” repeated the cavalryman, who, under the influence of his success, was in a playful mood; “hand over the money, sister, hand it over.”
“I’ll pay it all, but you won’t catch me again. No! … I shall not win this back as long as I live.”
And Anna Fyódorovna went off to her room, hurriedly swaying from side to side, and came back bringing nine roubles “assignations.” It was only on the old man’s insistent demand that she eventually paid the whole sum.
Pólozof was seized with fear lest Anna Fyódorovna should scold him if he spoke to her. He silently and quietly left her and joined the Count and Lisa, who were talking at the open window.
On the table spread for supper stood two tallow candles. Now and then the soft, fresh breath of the May night caused the flames to flicker.