A minute later the chemist’s wife came back and set five bottles on the counter.  She had just been in the cellar, and so was flushed and rather excited.

“Sh-sh! . . . quietly!” said Obtyosov when, after uncorking the bottles, she dropped the corkscrew.  “Don’t make such a noise; you’ll wake your husband.”

“Well, what if I do wake him?”

“He is sleeping so sweetly . . . he must be dreaming of you. . . .  To your health!”

“Besides,” boomed the doctor, hiccupping after the seltzer-water, “husbands are such a dull business that it would be very nice of them to be always asleep.  How good a drop of red wine would be in this water!”

“What an idea!” laughed the chemist’s wife.

“That would be splendid.  What a pity they don’t sell spirits in chemist’s shops!  Though you ought to sell wine as a medicine.  Have you any vinum gallicum rubrum?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, give us some!  Bring it here, damn it!”

“How much do you want?”

“Quantum satis. . . .  Give us an ounce each in the water, and afterwards we’ll see. . . .  Obtyosov, what do you say?  First with water and afterwards per se. . . .”

The doctor and Obtyosov sat down to the counter, took off their caps, and began drinking the wine.

“The wine, one must admit, is wretched stuff! Vinum nastissimum! Though in the presence of . . . er . . . it tastes like nectar.  You are enchanting, madam!  In imagination I kiss your hand.”

“I would give a great deal to do so not in imagination,” said Obtyosov.  “On my honour, I’d give my life.”

“That’s enough,” said Madame Tchernomordik, flushing and assuming a serious expression.

“What a flirt you are, though!” the doctor laughed softly, looking slyly at her from under his brows.  “Your eyes seem to be firing shot:  piff-paff!  I congratulate you:  you’ve conquered!  We are vanquished!”

The chemist’s wife looked at their ruddy faces, listened to their chatter, and soon she, too, grew quite lively.  Oh, she felt so gay!  She entered into the conversation, she laughed, flirted, and even, after repeated requests from the customers, drank two ounces of wine.

“You officers ought to come in oftener from the camp,” she said; “it’s awful how dreary it is here.  I’m simply dying of it.”

“I should think so!” said the doctor indignantly.  “Such a peach, a miracle of nature, thrown away in the wilds!  How well Griboyedov said, ‘Into the wilds, to Saratov’!  It’s time for us to be off, though.  Delighted to have made your acquaintance . . . very.  How much do we owe you?”

The chemist’s wife raised her eyes to the ceiling and her lips moved for some time.

“Twelve roubles forty-eight kopecks,” she said.

Obtyosov took out of his pocket a fat pocket-book, and after fumbling for some time among the notes, paid.