Toúrbin kissed all the young gipsy girls on the lips; the old women and the men kissed him on the shoulder or the hand. The nobles were also glad to see their visitor, especially as the carouse, having reached its zenith, was beginning to flag. Everyone began to feel satiated. The wine, having lost its exciting effect on the nerves, only oppressed the stomach. Each one had already let off his store of swagger, and they were getting tired of one another; the songs had all been sung, and had got mixed in everyone’s head, leaving a kind of noisy, dissolute impression behind. No matter what strange and dashing thing anyone did, it began to occur to everyone that there was nothing amiable or funny in it. The Captain of Police, who lay in a shocking state on the floor at the feet of an old woman, began kicking his legs and shouting, “Champagne!⁠ ⁠… the Count’s come!⁠ ⁠… champagne⁠ ⁠… he’s come⁠ ⁠… now then, champagne!⁠ ⁠… I’ll have a champagne bath, and bathe in it! Noble gentlemen!⁠ ⁠… I love the society of our brave old nobility⁠ ⁠… Styóshka, sing ‘The Pathway.’ ”