_Anòuch._ N-n-no.... Oh, no! I have no business.... I just came in as I was taking a walk. _Yaìch_ (_aside_). He’s a liar! taking a walk, indeed! The scoundrel wants to get married! (_Door-bell rings_, DOUNIÀSHKA _runs through into hall and opens door_. _Voices without_: “At home?” “At home.” _Enter_ ZHEVÀKIN _and_ DOUNIÀSHKA.) _Zhev._ (_to_ DOUNIÀSHKA). Just give me a brush, will you, my dear? One gets so dusty in the street. And take off that cobweb, please. (_Turns round._) That’s right; thank you, my dear. Just look on the other side; I fancy there’s a spider running up me. Are you sure there’s nothing on the back of my collar? Thank you, child. There! I’m sure there’s something! (_Smooths coat-sleeve with his hand, and looks at_ ANOÙCHKIN _and_ YAÌCHNITZA.) It’s real English cloth. In ’95, when I was only a midshipman, and our squadron was in Sicily, I bought it and had a uniform made; in 1801, under his late Majesty, Paul Petròvich, when I was made lieutenant, the cloth was as good as new; in 1814, I went on an expedition round the world, and it only began to get a little worn at the seams; in 1815, when I retired from the service, I just had it turned; and now I’ve worn it ten years, and it looks almost new still. Thank you, my dear! My little beauty! (_Kisses his hand to her, goes up to mirror, and arranges his hair._) _Anoùch._ If I may take the liberty to ask, Sicily.... You were just mentioning Sicily—it is a fine country, is it not? _Zhev._ Oh, beautiful! We spent thirty-four days there. I can assure you it’s a most charming place—such mountains; and the most beautiful trees ... what they call _granite_ trees. And the loveliest Italian girls—perfect little rosebuds, ... one can hardly refrain from kissing them. _Anoùch._ And are they well educated? _Zhev._ Magnificently; as highly educated as any countess here. I remember, when I used to go along the street,—well, of course you know, a Russian lieutenant, epaulettes here (_points to his shoulder_), gold embroidery, and all that,—well, and these little black-eyed beauties,—I must tell you, they have verandahs to every house, and roofs as flat as this floor—well, you look up as you pass, and there sits a little rosebud; and of course one must keep up one’s reputation (_makes a salute and waves his hand_), and she just answers like that (_makes gesture with his hand_). Of course she’s always beautifully dressed—little silk cords, and taffeta stuff, and earrings, and all sorts of feminine trifles, ... in a word, the daintiest little sugar-plum—— _Anoùch._ Allow me to ask you one more question. In what language do people converse in Sicily? _Zhev._ Oh, always in French, of course. _Anoùch._ And do all the young ladies speak French? _Zhev._ All, without exception. You perhaps will hardly believe me; but we lived there thirty-four days, and in all that time I never heard one of them speak a single word of Russian. _Anoùch._ Not a word?