at the top of the leg; he wore a white muslin neckerchief, a frill, lace cuffs, and two golden English “onions,"[31] one in each pocket of his waistcoat.  In his right hand he generally held an enamelled snuff-box with “Spanish” snuff, while his left rested on a cane with a silver handle which had been worn quite smooth with long use.  Alexyei Sergyeitch had a shrill, nasal voice, and was incessantly smiling, amiably, but somewhat patronisingly, not without a certain self-satisfied pompousness.  He also laughed in an amiable manner, with a fine, thin laugh like a string of wax pearls.  He was courteous and affable, in the ancient manner of Katherine’s day, and moved his hands slowly and with a circular motion, also in ancient style.  On account of his weak legs he could not walk, but he was wont to trip with hurried little steps from one arm-chair to another arm-chair, in which he suddenly seated himself—­or, rather, he fell into it, as softly as though he had been a pillow.

As I have already said, Alexyei Sergyeitch never went anywhere, and associated very little with the neighbours, although he was fond of society,—­for he was loquacious!  He had plenty of society in his own house, it is true:  divers Nikanor Nikanoritches, Sevastyei Sevastyeitches, Fedulitches, and Mikheitches, all poverty-stricken petty nobles, in threadbare kazak coats and short jackets, frequently from his own noble shoulders, dwelt beneath his roof, not to mention the poor gentlewomen in cotton-print gowns, with black kerchiefs on their shoulders, and worsted reticules in their tightly-clenched fingers,—­divers Avdotiya Savishnas, Pelageya Mironovnas, and plain Fekluskas and Arinkas, who received asylum in the women’s wing.  No less than fifteen persons ever sat down to Alexyei Sergyeitch’s table ... he was so hospitable!—­Among all these parasites two individuals stood forth with special prominence:  a dwarf named Janus or the Two-faced, a Dane,—­or, as some asserted, of Jewish extraction,—­and crazy Prince L. In contrast to the customs of that day the dwarf did not in the least serve as a butt for the guests, and was not a jester; on the contrary, he maintained constant silence, wore an irate and surly mien, contracted his brows in a frown, and gnashed his teeth as soon as any one addressed a question to him.  Alexyei Sergyeitch also called him a philosopher, and even respected him.  At table he was always the first to be served after the guests and the master and mistress of the house.—­“God has wronged him,” Alexyei Sergyeitch was wont to say:  “that was the Lord’s will; but it is not my place to wrong him.”

“Why is he a philosopher?” I asked one day. (Janus did not like me.  No sooner would I approach him, than he would begin to snarl and growl hoarsely, “Stranger! don’t bother me!”)

“But God have mercy, why isn’t he a philosopher?” replied Alexyei Sergyeitch.  “Just observe, my little gentleman, how finely he holds his tongue!”