A marketplace noise smote the air; the hall was crowded and suffocating.

Silently, Foma drank a glass of vodka, then another, and a third.

Around him they were munching and smacking their lips; the vodka poured out from the bottles was gurgling, the wine-glasses were tinkling.

They were speaking of dried sturgeon and of the bass of the soloist of the bishop's choir, and then again of the dried sturgeon, and then they said that the mayor also wished to make a speech, but did not venture to do so after the bishop had spoken, fearing lest he should not speak so well as the bishop.

Someone was telling with feeling: "The deceased one used to do thus: he would cut off a slice of salmon, pepper it thickly, cover it with another slice of salmon, and then send it down immediately after a drink." "Let us follow his example," roared a thick basso.