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"Get up, don't go on sleeping," said Yashvin, going behind the partition and giving Petritsky, who was lying with ruffled hair and with his nose in the pillow, a prod on the shoulder. Petritsky jumped up suddenly onto his knees and looked round. "Your brother's been here," he said to Vronsky. "He waked me up, damn him, and said he'd look in again."
"Tereshtchenko! brandy for your master and cucumbers," he shouted, obviously taking pleasure in the sound of his own voice. "Brandy, do you think? Eh?" queried Petritsky, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "And you'll drink something? All right then, we'll have a drink together! Vronsky, have a drink?" said Petritsky, getting up and wrapping the tiger-skin rug round him.
They talked it over, and decided that Petritsky and Kedrov must go with Vronsky to Venden's to apologize. The colonel and Vronsky were both fully aware that Vronsky's name and rank would be sure to contribute greatly to the softening of the injured husband's feelings. And these two influences were not in fact without effect; though the result remained, as Vronsky had described, uncertain.
"Drink it up; you positively must drink the brandy, and then seltzer water and a lot of lemon," said Yashvin, standing over Petritsky like a mother making a child take medicine, "and then a little champagne just a small bottle." "Come, there's some sense in that. Stop a bit, Vronsky. We'll all have a drink." "No; good-bye all of you. I'm not going to drink today." "Why, are you gaining weight?
"You're always just as if you'd come out of a bath after it," said Petritsky. Vronsky, without answering, looked at his comrade, thinking of something else. "Yes; is that music at his place?" he said, listening to the familiar sounds of polkas and waltzes floating across to him. "What's the fête?" "Serpuhovskoy's come." "Aha!" said Vronsky, "why, I didn't know."
"Hi, something for the count to eat! Ah, here it is: have a glass!" The fête at the colonel's lasted a long while. There was a great deal of drinking. They tossed Serpuhovskoy in the air and caught him again several times. Then they did the same to the colonel. Then, to the accompaniment of the band, the colonel himself danced with Petritsky.
Petritsky, still humming, winked and made a pout with his lips, as though he would say: "Oh, yes, we know your Bryansky." "Mind you're not late!" was Yashvin's only comment; and to change the conversation: "How's my roan? is he doing all right?" he inquired, looking out of the window at the middle one of the three horses, which he had sold Vronsky.
"Come, enough fooling! Where is the letter?" "No, I've forgotten really. Or was it a dream? Wait a bit, wait a bit! But what's the use of getting in a rage. If you'd drunk four bottles yesterday as I did you'd forget where you were lying. Wait a bit, I'll remember!" Petritsky went behind the partition and lay down on his bed. "Wait a bit! This was how I was lying, and this was how he was standing.
Vronsky!" shouted Petritsky, jumping up, scraping his chair. "Our host himself! Baroness, some coffee for him out of the new coffee pot. Why, we didn't expect you! Hope you're satisfied with the ornament of your study," he said, indicating the baroness. "You know each other, of course?" "I should think so," said Vronsky, with a bright smile, pressing the baroness's little hand. "What next!
Baroness Shilton, a friend of Petritsky's, with a rosy little face and flaxen hair, resplendent in a lilac satin gown, and filling the whole room, like a canary, with her Parisian chatter, sat at the round table making coffee. Petritsky, in his overcoat, and the cavalry captain Kamerovsky, in full uniform, probably just come from duty, were sitting each side of her. "Bravo!
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