Laevsky received two notes; he opened one and read: "Don't go away,
my darling."

"Who could have written that?" he thought. "Not Samoylenko, of
course. And not the deacon, for he doesn't know I want to go away.
Von Koren, perhaps?"

The zoologist bent over the table and drew a pyramid. Laevsky fancied
that his eyes were smiling.

"Most likely Samoylenko . . . has been gossiping," thought Laevsky.

In the other note, in the same disguised angular handwriting with
long tails to the letters, was written: "Somebody won't go away on
Saturday."

"A stupid gibe," thought Laevsky. "Friday, Friday. . . ."

Something rose in his throat. He touched his collar and coughed,
but instead of a cough a laugh broke from his throat.

"Ha-ha-ha!" he laughed. "Ha-ha-ha! What am I laughing at? Ha-ha-ha!"

He tried to restrain himself, covered his mouth with his hand, but
the laugh choked his chest and throat, and his hand could not cover
his mouth.

"How stupid it is!" he thought, rolling with laughter. "Have I gone
out of my mind?"