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Don't you?" A dignified waiter with a shaven upper lip and grey whiskers put a sauceboat on the table. "What's that you are serving?" asked Frolov. "Sauce Provençale for the herring, sir. . . ." "What! is that the way to serve it?" shouted Frolov, not looking into the sauceboat. "Do you call that sauce? You don't know how to wait, you blockhead!" Frolov's velvety eyes flashed.
Except them and the waiters at the door there was not a soul in the room; by Frolov's orders no one else was admitted. They began by drinking a big wine-glass of vodka and eating oysters. "Good!" said Almer. "It was I brought oysters into fashion for the first course, my boy. The vodka burns and stings your throat and you have a voluptuous sensation in your throat when you swallow an oyster.
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