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He squirmed, he doubled together, crumpled up. . . . His portmanteaus, bundles and cardboard boxes seemed to shrink and crumple up too. . . . His wife's long chin grew longer still; Nafanail drew himself up to attention and fastened all the buttons of his uniform. "Your Excellency, I . . . delighted! The friend, one may say, of childhood and to have turned into such a great man! He he!"
"Your Excellency's gracious attention is like refreshing manna. . . . This, your Excellency, is my son Nafanail, . . . my wife Luise, a Lutheran in a certain sense." The fat man was about to make some protest, but the face of the thin man wore an expression of such reverence, sugariness, and mawkish respectfulness that the privy councillor was sickened.
Nafanail thought a little and took refuge behind his father's back. "Well, how are you doing my friend?" the fat man asked, looking enthusiastically at his friend. "Are you in the service? What grade have you reached?" "I am, dear boy! I have been a collegiate assessor for the last two years and I have the Stanislav. The salary is poor, but that's no great matter!
I am married as you see. . . . This is my wife Luise, her maiden name was Vantsenbach . . . of the Lutheran persuasion. . . . And this is my son Nafanail, a schoolboy in the third class. This is the friend of my childhood, Nafanya. We were boys at school together!" Nafanail thought a little and took off his cap. "We were boys at school together," the thin man went on.
He turned away from the thin man, giving him his hand at parting. The thin man pressed three fingers, bowed his whole body and sniggered like a Chinaman: "He he he!" His wife smiled. Nafanail scraped with his foot and dropped his cap. All three were agreeably overwhelmed.
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