“Faugh, what filthy lodgings!” said the Count, with vexation. “Dyádenko! could you not find anything better at some gentleman’s house?”

“If your excellency desires it I will try at the manor-house,” answered the Quartermaster; “but it is not up to much⁠—does not look much better than a hut.”

“Never mind now. Go away.”

And the Count lay down on the bed, and threw his arms behind his head.

“Johann!” he called to his valet, “again you’ve made a lump in the middle! How is it you can’t make a bed properly?”

Johann wished to put it right.

“No, never mind now. But where is my dressing-gown?” said the Count, in a dissatisfied tone.

The valet handed him the dressing-gown. The Count before putting it on examined the front.