his fingers. "I'll give him the money, you see, but make him promise
on his honour that within a week he'll send Nadyezhda Fyodorovna
the money for the journey."

"And he'll give you his word of honour--in fact, he'll shed tears
and believe in it himself; but what's his word of honour worth? He
won't keep it, and when in a year or two you meet him on the Nevsky
Prospect with a new mistress on his arm, he'll excuse himself on
the ground that he has been crippled by civilisation, and that he
is made after the pattern of Rudin. Drop him, for God's sake! Keep
away from the filth; don't stir it up with both hands!"

Samoylenko thought for a minute and said resolutely:

"But I shall give him the money all the same. As you please. I can't
bring myself to refuse a man simply on an assumption."

"Very fine, too. You can kiss him if you like."

"Give me the hundred roubles, then," Samoylenko asked timidly.

"I won't."

A silence followed. Samoylenko was quite crushed; his face wore a
guilty, abashed, and ingratiating expression, and it was strange
to see this pitiful, childish, shamefaced countenance on a huge man
wearing epaulettes and orders of merit.

"The bishop here goes the round of his diocese on horseback instead
of in a carriage," said the deacon, laying down his pen. "It's