At seven o'clock punctually I was at Masloboev's. He greeted me with loud exclamations and open arms. He was, of course, half drunk. But what stuck me most was the extraordinary preparation that had been made for my visit. It was evident that I was expected. A pretty brass samovar was boiling on a little round table covered with a handsome and expensive tablecloth. The tea table glittered with crystal, silver and china. On another table, which was covered with a tablecloth of a different kind, but no less gorgeous, stood plates of excellent sweets, Kiev preserves both dried and liquid, fruit paste, jelly, French preserves, oranges, apples, and three or four sorts of nuts; in fact, a regular fruit shop. On a third table, covered with a snow white cloth, there were savouries of different sor
