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 about him, only he paid attention to nobody but me. So you see, there were good people in the old days too.”

Here came the news of the demand for vodka, light refreshments, and sherry.

“There now, brother, you never do the right thing; you should have ordered supper,” began Anna Fyódorovna. “Lisa, see to it, dear!”