A silk dressing-gown had been thrown on the bench.
Beletski himself, clean and good-looking, lay on the bed in his underclothing, reading Les Trois Mousquetaires.
He jumped up.
'There, you see how I have arranged things.

Fine! Well, it's good that you have come.

They are working furiously.

Do you know what the pie is made of?
Dough with a stuffing of pork and grapes.

But that's not the point.