after discoursing to her heart's content with the spiritualist upon Home, turning tables, selfplaying concertinas, and so on, wound up by asking him whether there were animals which could be influenced by mesmerism.
'There is one such animal any way,' Prince Kokó declared from some way off. 'You know Melvanovsky, don't you? They put him to sleep before me, and didn't he snore, he, he!'
'You are very naughty, mоп prince; I am speaking of real animals, je parle des bêtes.'
'Mais moi aussi, madame, je parle d'une bête. . . .'
'There are such,' put in the spiritualist; 'for instance—crabs; they are very nervous, and are easily thrown into a cataleptic state.'
The countess was astounded. 'What? Crabs! Really? Oh, that 's awfully interesting! Now, that I should like to see, M'sieu Luzhin,' she added to a young man with a face as stony as a new doll's, and a stony collar (he prided himself on the fact that he had bedewed the aforesaid face and collar with the sprays of Niagara and the Nubian Nile, though he remembered nothing of all his travels, and cared for nothing but Russian puns . . .). 'M'sieu Luzhin, if you would be so good, do bring us a crab quick.'