He then picked out the first of a dozen scarfs and pins that came into his hand—­it was no more novel and amusing, as it used to be—­and he was quite indifferent as to which he put on.  He dressed himself in his brushed clothes which lay on the chair and went out, though not quite refreshed, yet clean and fragrant.  In the oblong dining-room, the inlaid floor of which had been polished by three of his men the day before, and containing a massive oaken sideboard and a similar extension table, the legs of which were carved in the shape of lion’s paws, giving it a pompous appearance, breakfast stood ready for him.  A fine, starched cloth with large monograms was spread on the table, on which stood a silver coffee-pot, containing fragrant, steaming coffee, a sugar bowl and cream pitcher to match, fresh rolls and various kinds of biscuits.  Beside them lay the last number of the “Revue des deux Mondes,” newspapers and his mail.  Nekhludoff was about to open the letters, when a middle-aged woman, with a lace head-gear over her unevenly parted hair, glided into the room.  This was Agrippina Petrovna, servant of his mother, who died in this very house.  She was now stewardess to the son.

Agrippina Petrovna had traveled many years abroad with Nekhludoff’s mother, and had acquired the manners of a lady.  She had lived in the house of the Nekhludoffs since childhood, and knew Dmitri Ivanovitch when he was called by the diminutive Mitenka.

“Good-morning, Dmitri Ivanovitch.”

“How do you do, Agrippina Petrovna?  What’s the news?” asked Nekhludoff, jesting.

“A letter from the old Princess, or the young one, perhaps.  The maid brought it long ago, and is now waiting in my room,” said Agrippina Petrovna, handing him the letter with a significant smile.

“Very well; I will attend to it immediately,” said Nekhludoff, taking the letter and then, noticing the smile on Agrippina’s face, he frowned.

The smile on Agrippina’s face signified that the letter came from Princess Korchagin, whom, according to Agrippina Petrovna, he was to marry.  And this supposition, expressed by her smile, displeased Nekhludoff.

“Then I will bid her wait,” and Agrippina Petrovna glided out of the dining-room, first replacing the crumb-brush, which lay on the table, in its holder.

Nekhludoff opened the perfumed letter and began to read: 

“In fulfillment of the duty I assumed of being your memory,” the letter ran, “I call to your mind that you have been summoned to serve as juror to-day, the 28th of April, and that, therefore, you cannot accompany us and Kolosoff to the art exhibition, as you promised yesterday in your customary forgetfulness; a moins que vous ne soyez dispose a payer a la cour d’assises les 300 rubles d’amende que vous vous refusez pour votre cheval, for your failure to appear in time.  I remembered it yesterday, when you had left.  So keep it in mind.

“PrincessM. Korchagin.”