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, it really is he! It is his wife, it is somebody else’s wife. Poor fellow! I assure 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 raccoon gave such a gulp that he seemed to be sobbing in earnest.
“Ah, damnation 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!”
“I cannot tell you my name….”
“Do you know Shabrin?” the young man said quickly.
“Shabrin!!!”
“Yes, Shabrin! Ah!!!” (Saying this, the gentleman in the wadded overcoat mimicked the gentleman in raccoon.) “Do you understand?”
“No, what Shabrin?” answered the gentleman in raccoon, in a fluster. “He’s not Shabrin; he is a very respectable man! I can excuse your discourtesy, due to the tortures of jealousy.”
“He’s a scoundrel, a mercenary soul, a rogue that takes bribes, he steals government money! He’ll be had up for it before long!”
“Excuse me,” said the gentleman in raccoon, turning pale, “you don’t know him; I see that you don’t know him at all.”
“No, I don’t know him personally, but I know him from others who are in close touch with him.”
“From what others, sir? I am agitated, as you see….”
“A fool! A jealous idiot! He doesn’t look after his wife! That’s what he is, if you like to know!”
“Excuse me, young man, you are grievously mistaken….”
“Oh!”
“Oh!”
A sound was heard in Bobynitsyn’s flat. A door was opened, voices were heard.
“Oh, that’s not she! I recognise her voice; I understand it all now, this is not she!” said the gentleman in raccoon, turning as white as a sheet.
“Hush!”
The young man leaned against the wall.
“My dear sir, I am off. It is not she, I am glad to say.”
“All right! Be off, then!”
“Why are you staying, then?”
“What’s that to you?”
The door opened, and the gentleman in raccoon could not refrain from dashing headlong downstairs.
A man and a woman walked by the young man, and his heart stood still…. He heard a familiar feminine voice and then a husky male voice, utterly unfamiliar.
“Never mind, I will order the sledge,” said the husky voice.
“Oh, yes, yes; very well, do….”
“It will be here directly.”
The lady was left alone.
“Glafira! Where are your vows?” cried the young man in the wadded overcoat, clutching the lady’s arm.
“Oh, who is it? It’s you, Tvorogov? My goodness! What are you doing here?”
“Who is it you have been with here?”
“Why, my husband. Go away, go away; he’ll be coming out directly … from … in there … from the Polovitsyns’. Go away; for goodness’ sake, go away.”
“It’s three weeks since the Polovitsyns moved! I know all about it!”
“Aïe!” The lady dashed downstairs. The young man overtook her.
“Who told you?” asked the lady.
“Your husband, madam, Ivan Andreyitch; he is here before you, madam….”
Ivan Andreyitch was indeed standing at the front door.
“Aïe, it’s you,” cried the gentleman in raccoon.
“Ah! C’est vous,” cried Glafira Petrovna, rushing up to him with unfeigned delight. “Oh, dear, you can’t think what has been happening to me. I went to see the Polovitsyns; only fancy … you know they are living now by Izmailovsky Bridge; I told you, do you remember? I took a sledge from there. The horses took fright and bolted, they broke the sledge, and I was thrown out about a hundred yards from here; the coachman was taken up; I was in despair. Fortunately Monsieur Tvorogov …”
“What!”
Monsieur Tvorogov was more like a fossil than like Monsieur Tvorogov.
“Monsieur Tvorogov saw me here and undertook to escort me; but now you are here, and I can only express my warm gratitude to you, Ivan Ilyitch….”
The lady gave her hand to the stupefied Ivan Ilyitch, and almost pinched instead of pressing it.
“Monsieur Tvorogov, an acquaintance of mine; it was at the Skorlupovs’ ball we had the pleasure of meeting; I believe I told you; don’t you remember, Koko?”
“Oh, of course, of course! Ah, I remember,” said the gentleman in raccoon addressed as Koko. “Delighted, delighted!” And he warmly pressed the hand of Monsieur Tvorogov.
“Who is it? What does it mean? I am waiting…,” said a husky voice.
Before the group stood a gentleman of extraordinary height; he took out a lorgnette and looked intently at the gentleman in the raccoon coat.
“Ah, Monsieur
