pass; keeping quiet was as dull as listening. This society of
"creatures that once were men" had one fine characteristic --no
one of them endeavoured to make out that he was better than the
others, nor compelled the others to acknowledge his superiority.

The August sun seemed to set their tatters on fire as they sat
with their backs and uncovered heads exposed to it . . . a
chaotic mixture of the vegetable, mineral, and animal kingdoms.
In the corners of the yard the tall steppe grass grew
luxuriantly. . . . Nothing else grew there but some dingy
vegetables, not even attractive to those who nearly always felt
the pangs of hunger.

* * * * *

The following was the scene that took place in Vaviloff's
eating-house.

Young Petunikoff entered slowly, took off his hat, looked around
him, and said to the eating-house keeper:

"Egor Terentievitch Vaviloff? Are you he?"

"I am," answered the sergeant, leaning on the bar with both arms
as if intending to jump over it.

"I have some business with you," said Petunikoff.

"Delighted. Please come this way to my private room."