"You're a pretty fellow," said Gavrila, and paused. "A pretty fellow you are, there's no denying!"
Kapiton only twitched his little shoulders.
"Are you any better, pray?" he thought to himself.
"Just look at yourself, now, look at yourself,"
Gavrila went on reproachfully; "now, whatever do you look like?"
Kapiton serenely surveyed his shabby, tattered coat and his patched trousers, and with special attention stared at his burst boots, especially the one on the tiptoe of which his right foot so gracefully poised, and he fixed his eyes again on the steward.
"Well?"
"Well?" repeated Gavrila. "Well? And then you say well? You look like Old Nick himself, God forgive my saying so, that's what you look like."
Kapiton blinked rapidly.
"Go on abusing me, go on, if you like, Gavrila Andreitch," he thought to himself again.
"Here you've been drunk again," Gavrila began, "drunk again, have n't you? Eh? Come, answer me!"
"Owing to the weakness of my health, I have exposed myself to spirituous beverages, certainly," replied Kapiton.
"Owing to the weakness of your health! . . .
