Chapter 1 - Page 2

leave the companion-officers of my friend at the door, so I invited
them in, too. They accepted, naturally. But the subalterns were
thirsty as well. I understand discipline. You know, Feodor
Feodorovitch, that I am a stickler for discipline. Just because
one is gay of a spring morning, discipline should not be forgotten.
I invited the officers to drink in a private room, and sent the
subalterns into the main hall of the restaurant. Then the soldiers
were thirsty, too, and I had drinks served to them out in the
courtyard. Then, my word, there was a perplexing business, for now
the horses whinnied. The brave horses, Feodor Feodorovitch, who
also wished to drink the health of the Emperor. I was bothered
about the discipline. Hall, court, all were full. And I could not
put the horses in private rooms. Well, I made them carry out
champagne in pails and then came the perplexing business I had tried
so hard to avoid, a grand mixture of boots and horse-shoes that was
certainly the liveliest thing I have ever seen in my life. But the
horses were the most joyous, and danced as if a torch was held under
their nostrils, and all of them, my word! were ready to throw their
riders because the men were not of the same mind with them as to
the route to follow! From our window we laughed fit to kill at such
a mixture of sprawling boots and dancing hoofs. But the troopers
finally got all their horses to barracks, with patience, for the
Emperor's cavalry are the best riders in the world, Feodor
Feodorovitch. And we certainly had a great laugh! - Your health,
Matrena Petrovna."
These last graceful words were addressed to Madame Trebassof, who
shrugged her shoulders at the undesired gallantry of the gay
Councilor. She did not join in the conversation, excepting to
calm the general, who wished to send the whole regiment to the
guard-house, men and horses. And while the roisterers laughed over
the adventure she said to her husband in the advisory voice of the
helpful wife:

"Feodor, you must not attach importance to what that old fool Ivan
tells you. He is the most imaginative man in the capital when he
has had champagne."

"Ivan, you certainly have not had horses served with champagne in
pails," the old boaster, Athanase Georgevitch, protested jealously.
He was an advocate, well-known for his table-feats, who claimed the
hardest drinking reputation of any man in the capital, and he
regretted not to have invented that tale.

"On my word! And the best brands! I had won four thousand
roubles. I left the little fete with fifteen kopecks."

Matrena Petrovna was listening to Ermolai, the faithful country
servant who wore always, even here in the city, his habit of fresh
nankeen, his black leather