'My head's at your service,' said Insarov.

'What shall we do to-day, eh?' began Shubin, sitting down suddenly
on a low chair, with his knees apart and his elbows propped on them.
'Andrei Petrovitch, has your honour any kind of plan for to-day? It's
glorious weather; there's a scent of hay and dried strawberries as if
one were drinking strawberry-tea for a cold. We ought to get up some
kind of a spree. Let us show the new inhabitant of Kuntsov all its
numerous beauties.' (Something has certainly upset him, Bersenyev kept
thinking to himself.) 'Well, why art thou silent, friend Horatio?
Open your prophetic lips. Shall we go off on a spree, or not?'

'I don't know how Insarov feels,' observed Bersenyev. 'He is just
getting to work, I fancy.'

Shubin turned round on his chair.

'You want to work?' he inquired, in a somewhat condescending voice.

'No,' answered Insarov; 'to-day I could give up to walking.'

'Ah!' commented Shubin. 'Well, that's delightful. Run along, my
friend, Andrei Petrovitch, put a hat on your learned head, and let us
go where our eyes lead us. Our eyes are young--they may lead us far.
I know a very repulsive little restaurant, where they will give us a
very beastly little dinner; but we shall be very jolly. Come along.'

Half an hour later they were all three walking along the bank of the
Moskva. Insarov had a rather queer cap with flaps, over which Shubin
fell into not very spontaneous raptures. Insarov walked without haste,