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 appreciate your selection. I can eat a good dinner with pleasure."

"It should be more than that! You should say that it is one of the pleasures of life," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "In this case, little brother mine, give us two, or .... no, that's not enough, three dozen oysters, vegetable soup ...."

"Printanière," suggested the Tatar.

But Stepan Arkadyevitch did not allow him the pleasure of enumerating the dishes in French, and continued:—

"Vegetable soup, you understand; then turbot, with thick sauce; then roast beef, but see to it that it's all right. Yes, some capon, and lastly, some preserve." The Tatar, remembering Stepan Arkadyevitch's caprice of not calling the dishes by their French names, instead of repeating them after him, waited till he had finished; then he gave himself the pleasure of repeating the order according to the bill of fare:—

"Potage Printanière, turbot, sauce Beaumarchais, poularde à l'estragon, macédoine de fruits."

Then instantly, as if moved by a spring, he substituted for the bill of fare the wine-list, which he presented to Stepan Arkadyevitch.

"What shall we drink?"

"Whatever you please, only not much .... champagne," suggested Levin.

"What! at the very beginning? But you may be right; why not? Do you like the white seal?

"Cachet blanc," repeated the Tatar.

"Well, then, give us that brand with the oysters. Then we'll see."

"It shall be done, sir. And what table wine shall I bring you?"

"Some Nuits; no, hold on—give us some classic Chablis."

"It shall be done, sir; and will you order some of your cheese?"

"Yes, some parmesan. Or do you prefer some other kind?"