CHAPTER XX
Vronsky was lodging in a neat and spacious Finnish izba, divided in two by a partition. Petritsky was his chum, not only in Petersburg, but here also in camp. He was asleep when Vronsky and Yashvin entered.
"Get up! you've slept long enough," said Yashvin, going behind the partition, and shaking the sleeper's shoulder, as he lay with his nose buried in the pillow.
Petritsky suddenly got up on his knees, and looked all about him.
"Your brother has been here," said he to Vronsky. "He woke me up, the devil take him! and he said that he would come again."
Then he threw himself back on the pillow again, and pulled up the bedclothes.
"Stop! Yashvin," he cried angrily, as his comrade twitched off his quilt. Then he turned over, opened his eyes, and said, "You would do much better to tell me what I ought to drink to take this bad taste out of my mouth."
"Vodka is better than anything," said Yashvin. "Tereshchenko! Bring the barin some vodka and cucumbers," he cried, delighting in the thunder of his voice.
"You advise vodka? ha!" exclaimed Petritsky, scowling, and rubbing his eyes. "Will you take some, too? If you'll join, all right! Vronsky, will you have a drink?" said Petritsky, getting up and wrapping a striped quilt around him under his arms. He came to the door of the partition, raised his arms in the air, and began to sing in French, "'There was a king in Thu-u-le.' — Vronsky, will you have a drink?"
"Go away," replied the latter, who was putting on an overcoat brought him by his valet.
"Where are you going?" asked Yashvin, seeing a carriage drawn by three horses. "Here's the troïka."
"To the stables, then to Briansky's to see about some horses," replied Vronsky.
