The newly-elected Captain of Police and his guests, the cavalryman and the other nobles, had long been listening to the gipsies and drinking in the new restaurant when the Count, in a blue cloth cloak lined with bearskin, which had belonged to Anna Fyódorovna’s late husband, joined them.
“Sure, your excellency, we have been impatiently waiting for you!” said a dark, squinting gipsy, showing his white teeth, as he met the Count at the very entrance and rushed to help him off with his cloak. “We have not seen you since the fair at Lebedyáni … Styóshka is quite pining away for you.”
Styóshka, a young, graceful little gipsy, with a brick-red tinge on her brown face, and deep, brilliant black eyes shaded by long lashes, also ran out to meet him.
“Ah, little Count! Dearest! Jewel! this is a joy!” she murmured between her teeth, smiling merrily.