“Father is down with backache,” remarked Dounyásha.
“Should I go myself tomorrow, madam?” asked the steward.
“No, Egór; you are wanted here.” The lady pondered. “How much is it?”
“Four hundred and sixty-two silver roubles.”
“Send Polikoúshka,” said the lady, with a determined glance at Egór Miháylovitch’s face.
Egór Miháylovitch stretched his lips into the semblance of a smile, but without unclosing his teeth, and the expression of his face did not change.
“Yes, madam.”
“Send him to me.”
“Yes, madam;” and Egór Miháylovitch went to his office.