mouth wide open, grumbled thanks, and, shrugging and stretching, got up
from the sofa.

'Foo! though... I'm bored,' he muttered, 'might as well turn in to the
"Italie."'

He moved towards the door.

Fustov looked after him. He seemed to be struggling with himself.

'What pension were you alluding to just now, Viktor Ivanitch?' he asked
at last.

Viktor stopped in the doorway and put on his cap.

'Oh, don't you know? Susanna Ivanovna's pension.... She gets one. An
awfully curious story, I can tell you! I'll tell it you one of these
days. Quite an affair, 'pon my soul, a queer affair. But, I say, the
governor, you won't forget about the governor, please! His hide is
thick, of course--German, and it's had a Russian tanning too, still you
can get through it. Only, mind my step-mother Elenorka's nowhere about!
Dad's afraid of her, and she wants to keep everything for her brats! But
there, you know your way about! Good-bye!'

'Ugh, what a low beast that boy is!' cried Fustov, as soon as the door
had slammed-to.

His face was burning, as though from the fire, and he turned away from
me. I did not question him, and soon retired.