The countess was a woman of about forty-five,
with a thin Oriental type of face,
evidently worn out with childbearing-
she had had twelve. A languor of motion and speech,
resulting from weakness, gave her
a distinguished air which inspired respect.
Princess Anna Mikhaylovna Drubetskaya,
who as a member of the household was also
seated in the drawing room,
helped to receive and entertain the visitors.
The young people were in one of the inner rooms,
not considering it necessary to
take part in receiving the visitors.
The count met the guests and saw them off,
inviting them all to dinner.
"I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher,"
or "ma chere"-
he called everyone without exception and
without the slightest variation in his tone,
"my dear,"
whether they were above or below him in rank-
"I thank you for myself and for our two dear ones
whose name day we are keeping.
But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended,
ma chere!
On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come,
mon cher!"
These words he repeated to everyone without exception
or variation, and with the same expression on his full,
cheerful, clean-shaven face,
the same firm pressure of the hand and the same quick,
repeated bows.
As soon as he had seen a visitor off he returned
to one of those who were still in the drawing room,
drew a chair toward him or her,
and jauntily spreading out his legs and putting his
hands on his knees with the air of a man who enjoys
life and knows how to live,
he swayed to and fro with dignity,
offered surmises about the weather,
or touched on questions of health,
sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad
but self-confident French; then again,
like a man weary but unflinching
in the fulfillment of duty,
he rose to see some visitors off and,
stroking his scanty gray hairs over his bald patch,
also asked them to dinner.
Sometimes on his way back from the anteroom
he would pass through the conservatory
and pantry into the large marble dining hall,
where tables were being set out for eighty people;
and looking at the footmen,
who were bringing in silver and china,
moving tables, and unfolding damask table linen,
he would call Dmitri Vasilevich,
a man of good family
and the manager of all his affairs,
and while looking with pleasure at the enormous table
would say:
"Well, Dmitri,
you'll see that things are all as they should be?
That's right!
The great thing is the serving, that's it."
And with a complacent sigh
he would return to the drawing room.
"Marya Lvovna Karagina and her daughter!"
announced the countess'
gigantic footman in his bass voice,
entering the drawing room.
The countess reflected a moment and took a pinch
from a gold snuffbox with her husband's portrait on it.