"Hu-ush!"

"Why, has it gone out?"

"Yes, it has."

"Should we knock?"

"Yes, we must," responded the gentleman in racc.o.o.n.

"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 racc.o.o.n, 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 racc.o.o.n, 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 racc.o.o.n.

"But you took offence yourself, d.a.m.n 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 racc.o.o.n, 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 to-morrow ... though indeed we are not likely to meet to-morrow, though I am not afraid of meeting you--and besides, it is not I, it is my friend on the Voznesensky Bridge, it really is he! It is his wife, it is somebody else's wife. Poor fellow! I a.s.sure you, I know him very intimately; if you will allow me I will tell you all about it. I am a great friend of his, as you can see for yourself, or I shouldn't be in such a state about him now--as you see for yourself. Several times I said to him: 'Why are you getting married, dear boy? You have position, you have means, you are highly respected. Why risk it all at the caprice of coquetry? You must see that.' 'No, I am going to be married,' he said; 'domestic bliss.'... Here's domestic bliss for you! In old days he deceived other husbands ... now he is drinking the cup ... you must excuse me, but this explanation was absolutely necessary.... He is an unfortunate man, and is drinking the cup--now!..." At this point the gentleman in racc.o.o.n gave such a gulp that he seemed to be sobbing in earnest.

"Ah, d.a.m.nation take them all! There are plenty of fools. But who are you?"

The young man ground his teeth in anger.

"Well, you must admit after this that I have been gentlemanly and open with you ... and you take such a tone!"

"No, excuse me ... what is your name?"

"Why do you want to know my name?..."

"Ah!"