been famous and which was truly charming. "Pavel Andreitch, I speak to
you as a friend: try to be different! One is ill at ease with you, my
dear fellow, one really is!"

He looked intently into my face; the charming expression faded away, his
eyes grew dim again, and he sniffed and muttered feebly:

"Yes, yes.... Excuse an old man.... It's all nonsense... yes."

As he slowly descended the staircase, spreading out his hands to balance
himself and showing me his huge, bulky back and red neck, he gave me the
unpleasant impression of a sort of crab.

"You ought to go away, your Excellency," he muttered. "To Petersburg or
abroad.... Why should you live here and waste your golden days? You are
young, wealthy, and healthy.... Yes.... Ah, if I were younger I would
whisk away like a hare, and snap my fingers at everything."

III

My wife's outburst reminded me of our married life together. In old days
after every such outburst we felt irresistibly drawn to each other;
we would meet and let off all the dynamite that had accumulated in our
souls. And now after Ivan Ivanitch had gone away I had a strong impulse
to go to my wife. I wanted to go downstairs and tell her that her
behaviour at tea had been an insult to me, that she was cruel, petty,
and that her plebeian mind had never risen to a comprehension of what
_I_ was saying and of what _I_ was doing. I walked about the rooms a
long time thinking of what I would say to her and trying to guess what
she would say to me.