began to wash and dress.  His water was ready, and everything on the washing-stand and dressing-table was ready for use and properly laid out—­his soap, his tooth and hair brushes, his nail scissors and files.  He washed his hands and face in a leisurely fashion, cleaned and manicured his nails, pushed back the skin with the towel, and sponged his stout white body from head to foot.  Then he began to brush his hair.  Standing in front of the mirror, he first brushed his curly beard, which was beginning to turn grey, with two English brushes, parting it down the middle.  Then he combed his hair, which was already showing signs of getting thin, with a large tortoise-shell comb.  Putting on his underlinen, his socks, his boots, his trousers—­which were held up by elegant braces—­and his waistcoat, he sat down coatless in an easy chair to rest after dressing, lit a cigarette, and began to think where he should go for a walk that morning—­to the park or to Littleports (what a funny name for a wood!).  He thought he would go to Littleports.  Then he must answer Simon Nicholaevich’s letter; but there was time enough for that.  Getting up with an air of resolution, he took out his watch.  It was already five minutes to nine.  He put his watch into his waistcoat pocket, and his purse—­with all that was left of the hundred and eighty roubles he had taken for his journey, and for the incidental expenses of his fortnight’s stay with his cousin—­and then he placed into his trouser pocket his cigarette-case and electric cigarette-lighter, and two clean handkerchiefs into his coat pockets, and went out of the room, leaving as usual the mess and confusion which he had made to be cleared up by Stephen, an old man of over fifty.  Stephen expected Volgin to “remunerate” him, as he said, being so accustomed to the work that he did not feel the slightest repugnance for it.  Glancing at a mirror, and feeling satisfied with his appearance, Volgin went into the dining-room.

There, thanks to the efforts of the housekeeper, the footman, and under-butler—­the latter had risen at dawn in order to run home to sharpen his son’s scythe—­breakfast was ready.  On a spotless white cloth stood a boiling, shiny, silver samovar (at least it looked like silver), a coffee-pot, hot milk, cream, butter, and all sorts of fancy white bread and biscuits.  The only persons at table were the second son of the house, his tutor (a student), and the secretary.  The host, who was an active member of the Zemstvo and a great farmer, had already left the house, having gone at eight o’clock to attend to his work.  Volgin, while drinking his coffee, talked to the student and the secretary about the weather, and yesterday’s vint, and discussed Theodorite’s peculiar behaviour the night before, as he had been very rude to his father without the slightest cause.  Theodorite was the grown-up son of the house, and a ne’er-do-well.  His name was Theodore, but some one had once called him Theodorite either as a joke or to tease him; and,