MY NEIGHBOUR RADILOV
'He too was a landowner,' my new friend continued, 'and a rich one too, but he ruined himself—so he lives now with me. . . . But in his day he was considered the most dashing fellow in the province; he eloped with two married ladies; he used to keep singers, and sang himself, and danced like a master. . . . But won't you take some vodka? dinner is just ready.'
A young girl, the same that I had caught a glimpse of in the garden, came into the room.
'And here is Olga!' observed Radilov, slightly turning his head; 'let me present you. . . . Well, let us go into dinner.'
We went in and sat down to the table. While we were coming out of the drawing-room and taking our seats, Fyodor Miheitch, whose eyes were bright and his nose rather red after his 'refreshment,' sang 'Raise the cry of Victory.' They laid a separate cover for him in a corner on a little table without a table-napkin. The poor old man could not boast of very nice habits, and so they always kept him at some distance from society. He crossed himself, sighed, and began to eat like a shark. The dinner was in reality not bad, and in honour of Sunday was accompanied, of course, with shaking jelly and Spanish puffs of pastry. At the table Radilov, who had served ten years in an infantry regiment and had been in Turkey, fell to telling anecdotes; I listened to him with attention, and secretly watched Olga. She was not very pretty;
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