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"Well then, mind and have cocks' comb in the turtle soup, you

know!"

"Shall we have three cold dishes then?" asked the cook.

The count considered.

"We can't have less-yes, three... the mayonnaise, that's one,"

said he, bending down a finger.

"Then am I to order those large sterlets?" asked the steward.

"Yes, it can't be helped if they won't take less. Ah, dear me! I

was forgetting. We must have another entree. Ah, goodness

gracious!" he clutched at his head. "Who is going to get me the

flowers? Dmitri! Eh, Dmitri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate," he

said to the factotum who appeared at his call. "Hurry off and

tell Maksim, the gardener, to set the serfs to work. Say that

everything out of the hothouses must be brought here well wrapped

up in felt. I must have two hundred pots here on Friday."