“Just as you please to order, madam! Only it would be a pity if it’s the Doútlofs. They’re all good fellows, and one of them must go if we don’t send at least one of the domestic serfs,” said the steward. “As it is, everyone is hinting at them. … But it’s just as you please, madam!”
And he placed his right hand over his left in front of him, inclined his head towards the other shoulder, drew in—almost with a smack—his thin lips, rolled up his eyes, and said no more, evidently intending to keep silent for a long time, and to listen without reply to all the absurdities his mistress was sure to utter.
The steward—clean-shaven, and dressed in a long coat of a peculiar steward-like cut—who had come to report to his proprietress that autumn evening, was by origin a domestic serf.