"Nikolay Dmitrievitch, Nikolay Dmitrievitch," whispered Marya Nikolaevna, again going up to him.

"Oh, very well, very well!... But where's the supper? Ah, here it is," he said, seeing a waiter with a tray.

" Here, set it here," he added angrily, and promptly seizing the vodka, he poured out a glassful and drank it greedily.

" Like a drink?" he turned to his brother, and at once became better humored.

"Well, enough of Sergey Ivanovitch.