“And you go on getting younger,” he said through his laugh.  “I wonder what dye you use for your hair and beard; you might let me have some of it.”  Sniffing and gasping, he embraced me and kissed me on the cheek.  “You might give me some of it,” he repeated.  “Why, you are not forty, are you?”

“Alas, I am forty-six!” I said, laughing.

Ivan Ivanitch smelt of tallow candles and cooking, and that suited him.  His big, puffy, slow-moving body was swathed in a long frock-coat like a coachman’s full coat, with a high waist, and with hooks and eyes instead of buttons, and it would have been strange if he had smelt of eau-de-Cologne, for instance.  In his long, unshaven, bluish double chin, which looked like a thistle, his goggle eyes, his shortness of breath, and in the whole of his clumsy, slovenly figure, in his voice, his laugh, and his words, it was difficult to recognize the graceful, interesting talker who used in old days to make the husbands of the district jealous on account of their wives.

“I am in great need of your assistance, my friend,” I said, when we were sitting in the dining-room, drinking tea.  “I want to organize relief for the starving peasants, and I don’t know how to set about it.  So perhaps you will be so kind as to advise me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Ivan Ivanitch, sighing.  “To be sure, to be sure, to be sure....”

“I would not have worried you, my dear fellow, but really there is no one here but you I can appeal to.  You know what people are like about here.”

“To be sure, to be sure, to be sure....  Yes.”

I thought that as we were going to have a serious, business consultation in which any one might take part, regardless of their position or personal relations, why should I not invite Natalya Gavrilovna.

“Tres faciunt collegium,” I said gaily.  “What if we were to ask Natalya Gavrilovna?  What do you think?  Fenya,” I said, turning to the maid, “ask Natalya Gavrilovna to come upstairs to us, if possible at once.  Tell her it’s a very important matter.”

A little later Natalya Gavrilovna came in.  I got up to meet her and said: 

“Excuse us for troubling you, Natalie.  We are discussing a very important matter, and we had the happy thought that we might take advantage of your good advice, which you will not refuse to give us.  Please sit down.”

Ivan Ivanitch kissed her hand while she kissed his forehead; then, when we all sat down to the table, he, looking at her tearfully and blissfully, craned forward to her and kissed her hand again.  She was dressed in black, her hair was carefully arranged, and she smelt of fresh scent.  She had evidently dressed to go out or was expecting somebody.  Coming into the dining-room, she held out her hand to me with simple friendliness, and smiled to me as graciously as she did to Ivan Ivanitch—­that pleased me; but as she talked she moved her fingers, often and abruptly leaned back in her chair and talked rapidly, and this jerkiness in her words and movements irritated me and reminded me of her native town—­Odessa, where the society, men and women alike, had wearied me by its bad taste.