Paltaras Taras giggled voluptuously. The night was approaching. High up in the sky the stars were shining . . . and on the mountain and in the town the lights of the lamps were appearing. The whistles of the steamers were heard all over the river, and the doors of Yaviloff's eating-house opened noisily. Two dark figures entered the courtyard, and one of them asked in a hoarse voice: "Are you drinking?" And the other said in a jealous aside: "Just see what devils they are!" Then a hand stretched over the Deacon's head and took away the bottle, and the characteristic sound of vodki being poured into a glass was heard. Then they all protested loudly. "Oh this is sad!" shouted the Deacon. "Krivoi, let us remember the ancients! Let us sing 'On the Banks of Babylonian Rivers.'" "But can he?" asked Simtsoff. "He? He was a chorister in the Bishop's choir. Now then, Krivoi! . . . On the r-i-v-e-r-s-----" The Deacon's voice was loud and hoarse and cracked, but his friend sang in a shrill falsetto. The dirty building loomed large in the darkness and seemed to be coming nearer, threatening the singers, who were arousing its dull echoes. The heavy, pompous clouds were floating in the sky over their heads. One of the "creatures that once were men" was snoring; while the rest of them, not yet so drunk as he was, ate and drank quietly or spoke to each other at long intervals. It was unusual for them to be in such low spirits during such a feast, with so much vodki. Somehow the drink tonight did not seem to have its usual exhilarating effect. "Stop howling, you dogs!" . . . said the Captain to the singers, raising his head from the ground to listen. "Some one is passing . . . in a droshky. . . ." A droshky at such a time in the main street could not but attract general attention. Who would risk crossing the ditches between it and the town, and why? They all raised their heads and listened. In the silence of the night the wheels were distinctly heard. They came gradually nearer. A voice was heard, asking roughly: "Well, where then?" Someone answered, "It must be there, that house." "I shall not go any farther." "They are coming here!" shouted the Captain. "The police!" someone whispered in great alarm. "In a droshky! Fool!" said Martyanoff, quietly. Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance. "Is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice. "Yes. Belonging to Aristid Kuvalda . . ." said the Captain, roughly. "Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?" "Aha! Have you brought him?" "Yes. . . ." "Drunk?" "Ill." "That means he is very drunk. Ay, teacher! Now, then, get up!" "Wait, I will help you . . . He is very ill . . . he has been with me for the last two days . . . Take him under the arms . . . The doctor has seen him. He is very bad." Tyapa got up and walked to the entrance, but Abyedok laughed, and took another drink. "Strike a light, there!" shouted the Captain.