that Irinarkh, who served him as bath-attendant, thrashed him with a birch-besom soaked in beer, rubbed him down with shredded linden bark,[40] then with a bit of woollen cloth, rolled a soap bladder over his master’s shoulders,—­this faithfully-devoted Irinarkh was accustomed to say every time, as he climbed down from the shelf as red as “a new brass statue”:  “Well, for this time I, the servant of God, Irinarkh Tolobyeeff, am still whole....  What will happen next time?”

And Alexyei Sergyeitch spoke splendid Russian, somewhat old-fashioned, but piquant and pure as spring water, constantly interspersing his speech with his pet words:  “honour bright,” “God have mercy,” “at any rate,” “sir,” and “little sir."...

Enough concerning him, however.  Let us talk about Alexyei Sergyeitch’s spouse, Malanya Pavlovna.

Malanya Pavlovna was a native of Moscow, and had been accounted the greatest beauty in town, la Venus de Moscou.—­When I knew her she was already a gaunt old woman, with delicate but insignificant features, little curved hare-like teeth in a tiny little mouth, with a multitude of tight little curls on her forehead, and dyed eyebrows.  She constantly wore a pyramidal cap with rose-coloured ribbons, a high ruff around her neck, a short white gown and prunella shoes with red heels; and over her gown she wore a jacket of blue satin, with the sleeve depending from the right shoulder.  She had worn precisely such a toilet on St. Peter’s day, 1789!  On that day, being still a maiden, she had gone with her relatives to the Khodynskoe Field,[41] to see the famous prize-fight arranged by the Orloffs.

“And Count Alexyei Grigorievitch ...” (oh, how many times did I hear that tale!), ... “having descried me, approached, made a low obeisance, holding his hat in both hands, and spake thus:  ’My stunning beauty, why dost thou allow that sleeve to hang from thy shoulder?  Is it that thou wishest to have a match at fisticuffs with me?...  With pleasure; only I tell thee beforehand that thou hast vanquished me—­I surrender!—­and I am thy captive!’—­and every one stared at us and marvelled.”

And so she had worn that style of toilet ever since.

“Only, I wore no cap then, but a hat a la bergere de Trianon; and although I was powdered, yet my hair gleamed through it like gold!”

Malanya Pavlovna was stupid to sanctity, as the saying goes; she chattered at random, and did not herself quite know what issued from her mouth—­but it was chiefly about Orloff.—­Orloff had become, one may say, the principal interest of her life.  She usually entered—­no! she floated into—­the room, moving her head in a measured way like a peacock, came to a halt in the middle of it, with one foot turned out in a strange sort of way, and holding the pendent sleeve in two fingers (that must have been the pose which had pleased Orloff once on a time), she looked about her with arrogant carelessness, as befits a beauty,—­