“The path to Warsaw, perhaps,” Prince Ippolit remarked loudly and unexpectedly. Everybody looked at him, understanding what he meant. Prince Ippolit himself glanced around with amused surprise. He knew no more than the others what his words meant. During his diplomatic career he had more than once noticed that such utterances were received as very witty, and at every opportunity he uttered in that way the first words that entered his head. “It may turn out very well,” he thought, “but if not, they’ll know how to arrange matters.” And really, during the awkward silence that ensued, that insufficiently patriotic person entered whom Anna Pávlovna had been waiting for and wished to convert, and she, smiling and shaking a finger at Ippolit, invited Prince Vasíli to the table and bringing him two candles and the manuscript begged him to begin. Everyone became silent.