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When Alyosha came in, dinner was over, but coffee and
preserves had been served. Fyodor Pavlovitch liked sweet
things with brandy after dinner. Ivan was also at table, sip-
ping coffee. The servants, Grigory and Smerdyakov, were
standing by. Both the gentlemen and the servants seemed
in singularly good spirits. Fyodor Pavlovitch was roaring
with laughter. Before he entered the room, Alyosha heard
the shrill laugh he knew so well, and could tell from the
sound of it that his father had only reached the good-hu-
moured stage, and was far from being completely drunk.
‘Here he is! Here he is!’ yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch, highly
delighted at seeing Alyosha. ‘Join us. Sit down. Coffee is a
lenten dish, but it’s hot and good. I don’t offer you brandy,
you’re keeping the fast. But would you like some? No; I’d
better give you some of our famous liqueur. Smerdyakov, go
to the cupboard, the second shelf on the right. Here are the
keys. Look sharp!’
Alyosha began refusing the liqueur.
‘Never mind. If you won’t have it, we will,’ said Fyodor
Pavlovitch, beaming. ‘But stay — have you dined?’
‘Yes,’ answered Alyosha, who had in truth only eaten a
piece of bread and drunk a glass of kvass in the Father Su-
perior’s kitchen. ‘Though I should be pleased to have some
hot coffee.’
‘Bravo, my darling! He’ll have some coffee. Does it want
warming? No, it’s boiling. It’s capital coffee: Smerdyakov’s
making. My Smerdyakov’s an artist at coffee and at fish pat-
ties, and at fish soup, too. You must come one day and have
some fish soup. Let me know beforehand.... But, stay; didn’t