what I am saying. I didn’t mean anything; I only meant to say that there must be some good reason for your taking such an interest…. But who are you, young man? I see you are a stranger, but who are you? Oh, dear, I don’t know what I am saying!”
“Ugh, leave off, please!” the young man interrupted, as though he were considering something.
“But I will tell you all about it. You think, perhaps, that I will not tell you. That I feel resentment against you. Oh, no! Here is my hand. I am only feeling depressed, nothing more. But for God’s sake, first tell me how you came here yourself? Through what chance? As for me, I feel no ill-will; no, indeed, I feel no ill-will, here is my hand. I have made it rather dirty, it is so dusty here; but that’s nothing, when the feeling is true.”
“Ugh, get away with your hand! There is no room to turn, and he keeps thrusting his hand on me!”
“But, my dear sir, but you treat me, if you will allow me to say so, as though I were an old shoe,” said Ivan Andreyitch in a rush of the meekest despair, in a voice full of entreaty. “Treat me a little more civilly, just a little more civilly, and I will tell you all about it! We might be friends; I am quite ready to ask you home to dinner. We can’t lie side by side like this, I tell you plainly. You are in error, young man, you do not know….”
“When was it he met her?” the young man muttered, evidently in violent emotion. “Perhaps she is expecting me now…. I’ll certainly get away from here!”
“She? Who is she? My God, of whom are you speaking, young man? You imagine that upstairs…. My God, my God! Why am I punished like this?”
Ivan Andreyitch tried to turn on his back in his despair.
“Why do you want to know who she is? Oh, the devil whether it was she or not, I will get out.”
“My dear sir! What are you thinking about? What will become of me?” whispered Ivan Andreyitch, clutching at the tails of his neighbour’s dress coat in his despair.
“Well, what’s that to me? You can stop here by yourself. And if you won’t, I’ll tell them that you are my uncle, who has squandered all his property, so that the old gentleman won’t think that I am his wife’s lover.”
“But that is utterly impossible, young man; it’s unnatural I should be your uncle. Nobody would believe you. Why, a baby wouldn’t believe it,” Ivan Andreyitch whispered in despair.
“Well, don’t babble then, but lie as flat as a pancake! Most likely you will stay the night here and get out somehow tomorrow; no one will notice you. If one creeps out, it is not likely they would think there was another one here. There might as well be a dozen. Though you are as good as a dozen by yourself. Move a little, or I’ll get out.”
“You wound me, young man…. What if I have a fit of coughing? One has to think of everything.”
“Hush!”
“What’s that? I fancy I hear something going on upstairs again,” said the old gentleman, who seemed to have had a nap in the interval.
“Upstairs?”
“Do you hear, young man? I shall get out.”
“Well, I hear.”
“My goodness! Young man, I am going.”
“Oh, well, I am not, then! I don’t care. If there is an upset I don’t mind! But do you know what I suspect? I believe you are an injured husband — so there.”
“Good heavens, what cynicism!… Can you possibly suspect that? Why a husband?… I am not married.”
“Not married? Fiddlesticks!”
“I may be a lover myself!”
“A nice lover.”
“My dear sir, my dear sir! Oh, very well, I will tell you the whole story. Listen to my desperate story. It is not I — I am not married. I am a bachelor like you. It is my friend, a companion of my youth…. I am a lover…. He told me that he was an unhappy man. ‘I am drinking the cup of bitterness,’ he said; ‘I suspect my wife.’ ‘Well,’ I said to him reasonably, ‘why do you suspect her?’… But you are not listening to me. Listen, listen! ‘Jealousy is ridiculous,’ I said to him; ‘jealousy is a vice!’… ‘No,’ he said; ‘I am an unhappy man! I am drinking … that is, I suspect my wife.’ ‘You are my friend,’ I said; ‘you are the companion of my tender youth. Together we culled the flowers of happiness, together we rolled in featherbeds of pleasure.’ My goodness, I don’t know what I am saying. You keep laughing, young man. You’ll drive me crazy.”
“But you are crazy now….”
“There, I knew you would say that … when I talked of being crazy. Laugh away, laugh away, young man. I did the same in my day; I, too, went astray! Ah, I shall have inflammation of the brain!”
“What is it, my love? I thought I heard some one sneeze,” the old man chanted. “Was that you sneezed, my love?”
“Oh, goodness!” said his wife.
“Tch!” sounded from under the bed.
“They must be making a noise upstairs,” said his wife, alarmed, for there certainly was a noise under the bed.
“Yes, upstairs!” said the husband. “Upstairs, I told you just now, I met a … khee-khee … that I met a young swell with moustaches — oh, dear, my spine! — a young swell with moustaches.”
“With moustaches! My goodness, that must have been you,” whispered Ivan Andreyitch.
“Merciful heavens, what a man! Why, I am here, lying here with you! How could he have met me? But don’t take hold of my face.”
“My goodness, I shall faint in a minute.”
There certainly was a loud noise overhead at this moment.
“What can be happening there?” whispered the young man.
“My dear sir! I am in alarm, I am in terror, help me.”
“Hush!”
“There really is a noise, my love; there’s a regular hubbub. And just over your bedroom, too. Hadn’t I better send up to inquire?”
“Well, what will you think of next?”
“Oh, well, I won’t; but really, how cross you are to-day!…”
“Oh, dear, you had better go to bed.”
“Liza, you don’t love me at all.”
“Oh, yes, I do! For goodness’ sake, I am so tired.”
“Well, well; I am going!”
“Oh, no, no; don’t go!” cried his wife; “or, no, better go!”
“Why, what is the matter with you! One minute I am to go, and the next I’m not! Khee-khee! It really is bedtime, khee-khee!
