…A few looks are exchanged.
“Shall we start? Whose turn is it today?”

Grisha, a fat, solemn little person of seven, was standing by the kitchen door listening and peeping through the keyhole.

“Once the old prince himself came over to invite us to a wedding. He was giving away his elder daughter and since we were kunaks [blood brothers] there was no way to say no, of course, Tatar or not.

…But her chief care was the kitchen and the dinner. Concerning the latter she consulted the entire household, including the aged aunt.

The tables were already laid under the trees; the samovars were smoking, and Vassily and Grigory, in their swallow-tails and white knitted gloves, were already busy with the tea-things.