“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Hadn’t we better go there?”
“Where?”
“Why, to Bobynitsyn’s….”
“No, that’s out of the question.”
“Why?”
“I would go there, of course, but then she would tell me some other story; she would … get out of it. She would say that she had come on purpose to catch me with some one, and I should get into trouble.”
“And, you know, she may be there! But you — I don’t know for what reason — why, you might go to the general’s….”
“But, you know, he has moved!”
“That doesn’t matter, you know. She has gone there; so you go, too — don’t you understand? Behave as though you didn’t know the general had gone away. Go as though you had come to fetch your wife, and so on.”
“And then?”
“Well, and then find the person you want at Bobynitsyn’s. Tfoo, damnation take you, what a senseless….”
“Well, and what is it to you, my finding? You see, you see!”
“What, what, my good man? What? You are on the same old tack again. Oh, Lord have mercy on us! You ought to be ashamed, you absurd person, you senseless person!”
“Yes, but why are you so interested? Do you want to find out….”
“Find out what? What? Oh, well, damnation take you! I have no thoughts for you now; I’ll go alone. Go away; get along; look out; be off!”
“My dear sir, you are almost forgetting yourself!” cried the gentleman in raccoon in despair.
“Well, what of it? What if I am forgetting myself?” said the young man, setting his teeth and stepping up to the gentleman in raccoon in a fury. “What of it? Forgetting myself before whom?” he thundered, clenching his fists.
“But allow me, sir….”
“Well, who are you, before whom I am forgetting myself? What is your name?”
“I don’t know about that, young man; why do you want my name?… I cannot tell it you…. I better come with you. Let us go; I won’t hang back; I am ready for anything…. But I assure you I deserve greater politeness and respect! You ought never to lose your self-possession, and if you are upset about something — I can guess what about — at any rate there is no need to forget yourself…. You are still a very, very young man!…”
“What is it to me that you are old? There’s nothing wonderful in that! Go away. Why are you dancing about here?”
“How am I old? Of course, in position; but I am not dancing about….”
“I can see that. But get away with you.”
“No, I’ll stay with you; you cannot forbid me; I am mixed up in it, too; I will come with you….”
“Well, then, keep quiet, keep quiet, hold your tongue….”
They both went up the steps and ascended the stairs to the third storey. It was rather dark.
“Stay; have you got matches?”
“Matches! What matches?”
“Do you smoke cigars?”
“Oh, yes, I have, I have; here they are, here they are; here, stay….” The gentleman in raccoon rummaged in a fluster.
“Tfoo, what a senseless … damnation! I believe this is the door….”
“This, this, this?”
“This, this, this… Why are you bawling? Hush!…”
“My dear sir, overcoming my feelings, I … you are a reckless fellow, so there!…”
The light flared up.
“Yes, so it is; here is the brass plate. This is Bobynitsyn’s; do you see Bobynitsyn?”
“I see it, I see it.”
“Hu-ush!”
“Why, has it gone out?”
“Yes, it has.”
“Should we knock?”
“Yes, we must,” responded the gentleman in raccoon.
“Knock, then.”
“No, why should I? You begin, you knock!”
“Coward!”
“You are a coward yourself!”
“G-et a-way with you!”
“I almost regret having confided my secret to you; you….”
“I — what about me?”
“You take advantage of my distress; you see that I am upset….”
“But do I care? I think it’s ridiculous, that’s all about it!”
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here, too?…”
“Delightful morality!” observed the gentleman in raccoon, with indignation.
“What are you saying about morality? What are you?”
“Well, it’s immoral!”
“What?…”
“Why, to your thinking, every deceived husband is a noodle!”
“Why, are you the husband? I thought the husband was on Voznesensky Bridge? So what is it to you? Why do you meddle?”
“I do believe that you are the lover!…”
“Listen: if you go on like this I shall be forced to think you are a noodle! That is, do you know who?”
“That is, you mean to say that I am the husband,” said the gentleman in raccoon, stepping back as though he were scalded with boiling water.
“Hush, hold your tongue. Do you hear?…”
“It is she.”
“No!”
“Tfoo, how dark it is!”
There was a hush; a sound was audible in Bobynitsyn’s flat.
“Why should we quarrel, sir?” whispered the gentleman in raccoon.
“But you took offence yourself, damn it all!”
“But you drove me out of all patience.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“You must admit that you are a very young man.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“Of course I share your idea, that a husband in such a position is a noodle.”
“Oh, will you hold your tongue? Oh!…”
“But why such savage persecution of the unfortunate husband?…”
“It is she!”
But at that moment the sound ceased.
“Is it she?”
“It is, it is, it is! But why are you — you worrying about it? It is not your trouble!”
“My dear sir, my dear sir,” muttered the gentleman in raccoon, turning pale and gulping, “I am, of course, greatly agitated … you can see for yourself my abject position; but now it’s night, of course, but tomorrow … though indeed we are not likely to meet tomorrow, though I am not afraid of meeting you — and besides, it is not I, it is my friend on the Voznesensky Bridge,