So Egór Miháylovitch took up a comfortable position, and even leaned imperceptibly against the lintel of the door, while keeping a servile expression on his face and watching the movements of the lady’s lips and the flutter of the frills on her cap, and their shadow on the wall beneath a picture. But he did not consider it at all necessary to attend to the meaning of her words. The lady spoke long, and said much. A desire to yawn gave him cramp behind his ears, but he adroitly turned the spasm into a cough, and, holding his hand to his mouth, gave a croak. A little while ago I saw Lord Palmerston sitting with his hat over his face while a member of the Opposition was storming at the Ministry, and then suddenly rise, and in a three hours’ speech answer his opponent point by point. I saw it and was not surprised, because I had seen the same kind of thing hundreds of times going on between Egór Miháylovitch and his mistress. At last⁠—perhaps he was afraid of falling asleep, or thought she was letting herself go too far⁠—changing the weight of his body from his left to his right foot, he began, as he always did, with an unctuous preface: