Another dish was served, ham and peas. Yudushka took advantage of the opportunity to resume the broken conversation. "I'll wager the Jews don't eat this," he said. "Jews are dirty," responded the Father Provost. "So people mock them, calling them 'pig's ears.'" "But the Tartars don't eat ham either. There must be some reason for it." "The Tartars are dirty, too. That's the reason." "We don't eat horse flesh, and the Tartars refuse pigs' meat. They say rats were eaten during the siege in Paris." "Well, they were--French!" The whole supper passed in this way. When carp in cream was served, Yudushka expatiated: "Fall to, Father. These are not ordinary carp. They were a favorite dish of my departed brother." Asparagus being served, Yudushka said: "Just look at that asparagus! You'd have to pay a silver ruble for asparagus like that in St. Petersburg. My deceased brother was so fond of it. Bless it, look how thick it is." Arina Petrovna was boiling with impatience. A whole hour gone and only half the supper eaten. Yudushka seemed to hold it back on purpose. He would eat something, put down his knife and fork, chatter a while, eat a bit again, and chatter again. How often, in bygone days, had Arina Petrovna scolded him for it. "Why don't you eat, you devil--God forgive me." But he seemed to have forgotten her instructions. Or perhaps he had not forgotten them, but was acting that way on purpose, to avenge himself. Or maybe he wasn't even avenging himself consciously. He might just be letting his devilish inner self have free play. Finally the roast was served. At the very moment that all rose and the Father Provost was beginning to intone the hymn about "the beatific deceased," a noise broke out in the corridor. Shouts were heard that entirely spoiled the effect of the prayer. "What's that noise?" shouted Porfiry Vladimirych. "Do they take this for a public-house?" "For mercy's sake, don't yell. That is my--those are my trunks. They are being transferred," responded Arina Petrovna. Then she added with a touch of sarcasm: "Perhaps you intend to inspect them?" A sudden silence fell. Even Yudushka turned pale and became confused. He realized instantly, however, that somehow he had to soften the effect of his mother's unpleasant words. Turning to the Father Provost, he began: "Take woodcocks for instance. They are plentiful in Russia, but in other lands----" "For Christ's sake, why don't you eat? We've got twenty-five versts to go and make them before dark," Arina Petrovna cut him short. "Petenka, dear, go hurry them in there, and see that they serve the pastry." For a few moments there was silence. Porfiry Vladimirych quickly finished his piece of woodcock. His face was pale, his lips trembled, and he sat tapping his foot on the floor. "You insult me, mother dear. You hurt me deeply," he declared, finally, but avoided his mother's eyes. "Who is insulting you? And how am I hurting you--so deeply?"