“Get away or I shall smash the plates!” she squeaked, escaping from Belétski. “You’d better come and help,” she shouted to Olénin, laughing. “And don’t forget to get some refreshments for the girls.” (“Refreshments” meaning spicebread and sweets.) “And has Maryánka come?” “Of course! She brought some dough.” “Do you know,” said Belétski, “if one were to dress Ústenka up and clean and polish her up a bit, she’d be better than all our beauties. Have you ever seen that Cossack woman who married a colonel; she was charming! Bórsheva? What dignity! Where do they get it...” “I have not seen Bórsheva, but I think nothing could be better than the costume they wear here.” “Ah, I’m first-rate at fitting into any kind of life,” said Belétski with a sigh of pleasure. “I’ll go and see what they are up to.” He threw his dressing-gown over his shoulders and ran out, shouting, “And you look after the ‘refreshments’.” Olénin sent Belétski’s orderly to buy spice-bread and honey; but it suddenly seemed to him so disgusting to give money (as if he were bribing someone) that he gave no definite reply to the orderly’s question: “How much spice-bread with peppermint, and how much with honey?” “Just as you please.” “Shall I spend all the money,” asked the old soldier impressively. “The peppermint is dearer. It’s sixteen kopeks.” “Yes, yes, spend it all,” answered Olénin and sat down by the window, surprised that his heart was thumping as if he were preparing himself for something serious and wicked. He heard screaming and shrieking in the girls’ hut when Belétski went there, and a few moments later saw how he jumped out and ran down the steps, accompanied by shrieks, bustle, and laughter. “Turned out,” he said. A little later Ústenka entered and solemnly invited her visitors to come in: announcing that all was ready. When they came into the room they saw that everything was really ready. Ústenka was rearranging the cushions along the wall. On the table, which was covered by a disproportionately small cloth, was a decanter of _chikhir_ and some dried fish. The room smelt of dough and grapes. Some half dozen girls in smart tunics, with their heads not covered as usual with kerchiefs, were huddled together in a corner behind the oven, whispering, giggling, and spluttering with laughter. “I humbly beg you to do honour to my patron saint,” said Ústenka, inviting her guests to the table. Olénin noticed Maryánka among the group of girls, who without exception were all handsome, and he felt vexed and hurt that he met her in such vulgar and awkward circumstances. He felt stupid and awkward, and made up his mind to do what Belétski did. Belétski stepped to the table somewhat solemnly yet with confidence and ease, drank a glass of wine to Ústenka’s health, and invited the others to do the same. Ústenka announced that girls don’t drink. “We might with a little honey,” exclaimed a voice from among the group of girls.