president made haste to say.

No one saw the escort's face, and horror passed over the hall unseen
as in a mask. The usher of the court got up quietly from his place
and tiptoeing with his hand held out to balance himself went out
of the court. Half a minute later there came the muffled sounds and
footsteps that accompany the change of guard.

All raised their heads and, trying to look as though nothing had
happened, went on with their work. . . .


BOOTS

A PIANO-TUNER called Murkin, a close-shaven man with a yellow face,
with a nose stained with snuff, and cotton-wool in his ears, came
out of his hotel-room into the passage, and in a cracked voice
cried: "Semyon! Waiter!"

And looking at his frightened face one might have supposed that the
ceiling had fallen in on him or that he had just seen a ghost in
his room.

"Upon my word, Semyon!" he cried, seeing the attendant running
towards him. "What is the meaning of it? I am a rheumatic, delicate
man and you make me go barefoot! Why is it you don't give me my
boots all this time? Where are they?"

Semyon went into Murkin's room, looked at the place where he was
in the habit of putting the boots he had cleaned, and scratched his