sitting with them.”
“Is she cheerful? Is she laughing?”
“No, I think she’s not laughing much. She’s sitting quite dull. She’s combing the young gentleman’s hair.”
“The Pole—the officer?”
“He’s not young, and he’s not an officer, either. Not him, sir. It’s the young gentleman that’s Mr. Miüsov’s relation … I’ve forgotten his name.”
“Kalganov.”
“That’s it, Kalganov!”
“All right. I’ll see for myself. Are they playing cards?”
“They have been playing, but they’ve left off. They’ve been drinking tea, the official gentleman asked for liqueurs.”
“Stay, Trifon Borissovitch, stay, my good soul, I’ll see for myself. Now answer one more question: are the gypsies here?”
“You can’t have the gypsies now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. The authorities have sent them away. But we’ve Jews that play the cymbals and the fiddle in the village, so one might send for them. They’d come.”