“I should hope so! After all, it’s one of the pleasures of life,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Well, then, my friend, you give us two—�or better say three—�dozen oysters, clear soup with vegetables...”

“Printaniere,” prompted the Tatar. But Stepan Arkadyevitch apparently did not care to allow him the satisfaction of giving the French names of the dishes.

“With vegetables in it, you know. Then turbot with thick sauce, then...roast beef; and mind it’s good. Yes, and capons, perhaps, and then sweets.”

The Tatar, recollecting that it was Stepan Arkadyevitch’s way not to call the dishes by the names in the French bill of fare, did not repeat them after him, but could not resist rehearsing the whole menu to himself according to the bill:—�“Soupe