And this ugly face was perfectly motionless, and the eyes alone, small, round and cold, were forever smiling a penetrating and cunning smile.
Ookhtishchev's lady's name was Vera; she was a tall, pale woman with red hair.

She had so much hair, that it seemed as though the woman had put on her head an enormous cap which was coming down over her ears, her cheeks and her high forehead, from under which her large blue eyes looked forth calmly and lazily.
The gentleman with the side whiskers sat beside a young, plump, buxom girl, who constantly giggled in a ringing voice at something which he whispered in her ear as he leaned over her shoulder.
And Foma's lady was a stately brunette, clad all in black.
Dark-complexioned, with wavy locks, she kept her head so erect and high and looked at everything about her with such condescending haughtiness, that it was at once evident that she considered herself the most important person there.
The company were seated on the extreme link of the raft, extending far into the smooth expanse of the river.

Boards were spread out on the raft and in the centre stood a crudely constructed table; empty bottles, provision baskets, candy-wrappers and orange peels were scattered about everywhere.

In the corner of the raft was a pile of earth, upon which a bonfire was burning, and a peasant in a short fur coat, squatting, warmed his hands over the fire, and cast furtive glances at the people seated around the table.

They had just finished eating their sturgeon soup, and now wines and fruits were before them on the table.
Fatigued with a two-days' spree and with the dinner that had just been finished, the company was in a weary frame of mind.