s ill-luck would have it, to set things right, I began
telling a very cultivated anecdote about Piron, how he was not accepted
into the French Academy, and to revenge himself wrote his own epitaph:

Ci-git Piron qui ne fut rien,
Pas meme academicien.

They seized me and thrashed me."

"But what for? What for?"

"For my education. People can thrash a man for anything," Maximov
concluded, briefly and sententiously.

"Eh, that's enough! That's all stupid, I don't want to listen. I thought
it would be amusing," Grushenka cut them short, suddenly.

Mitya started, and at once left off laughing. The tall Pole rose upon his
feet, and with the haughty air of a man, bored and out of his element,
began pacing from corner to corner of the room, his hands behind his back.

"Ah, he can't sit still," said Grushenka, looking at him contemptuously.
Mitya began to feel anxious. He noticed besides, that the Pole on the sofa
was looking at him with an irritable expression.

"_Panie!_" cried Mitya, "let's drink! and the other _pan_, too! Let us
drink."

In a flash he had pulled three glasses towards him, and filled them with
champagne.

"To Poland, _panovie_, I drink to your Poland!" cried Mitya.

"I shall be delighted, _panie_," said the Pole on the sofa, with dignity
and affable condescension, and he took his glass.

"And the other _pan_, what's his name? Drink, most illustrious, take your
glass!" Mitya urged.

"Pan Vrublevsky," put in the Pole on the sofa.

Pan Vrublevsky came up to the table, swaying as he walked.

"To Poland, _panovie!_" cried Mitya, raising his glass. "Hurrah!"

All three drank. Mitya seized the bottle and again poured out three
glasses.

"Now to Russia, _panovie_, and let us be brothers!"

"Pour out some for us," said Grushenka; "I'll drink to Russia, too!"

"So will I," said Kalganov.

"And I would, too ... to Russia, the old grandmother!" tittered Maximov.

"All! All!" cried Mitya. "Trifon Borissovitch, some more bottles!"

The other three bottles Mitya had brought with him were put on the table.
Mitya filled the glasses.

"To Russia! Hurrah!" he shouted again. All drank the toast except the
Poles, and Grushenka tossed off her whole glass at once. The Poles did not
touch theirs.

"How's this, _panovie_?" cried Mitya, "won't you drink it?"

Pan Vrublevsky took the glass, raised it and said with a resonant voice:

"To Russia as she was before 1772."

"Come, that's better!