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And the count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd and

respectful expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at

the father and son.

"What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktist?" said

he. "Laughing at us old fellows!"

"That's so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good

dinner, but providing it and serving it all up, that's not their

business!"

"That's it, that's it!" exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing

his son by both hands, he cried, "Now I've got you, so take the

sleigh and pair at once, and go to Bezukhov's, and tell him

'Count Ilya has sent you to ask for strawberries and fresh

pineapples.' We can't get them from anyone else. He's not there

himself, so you'll have to go in and ask the princesses; and from

there go on to the Rasgulyay-the coachman Ipatka knows-and look

up the gypsy Ilyushka, the one who danced at Count Orlov's, you

remember, in a white Cossack coat, and bring him along to me."