"Come get the samovar.

It's ready!" Andrey walked out of the room, and Vyesovshchikov, left alone, looked about, stretched out his foot sheathed in a coarse, heavy boot, looked at it, bent down, and felt the stout calf of his legs.

Then he raised one hand to his face, carefully examined the palm, and turned it around.

His short-fingered hand was thick, and covered with yellowish hair.

He waved it in the air, and arose.
When Andrey brought in the samovar, Vyesovshchikov was standing before the mirror, and greeted him with these words: "It's a long time since I've seen my face." Then he laughed and added: "It's an ugly face I have!" "What's that to you ?" asked Andrey, turning a curious look upon him.
"Sashenka says the face is the mirror of the heart!" Nikolay replied, bringing out the words slowly.
"It's not true, though!" the little Russian ejaculated.