"You are lying, Deacon! How could you marry a second time?" interrupted Abyedok. "Ay, just so... She looked after my house...." "Did you have any children?" asked the teacher. "Five of them.... One was drowned ... the oldest ... he was an amusing boy! Two died of diphtheria ... One of the daughters married a student and went with him to Siberia. The other went to the University of St. Petersburg and died there ... of consumption they say. Ye--es, there were five of them.... Ecclesiastics are prolific, you know." He began explaining why this was so, and they laughed till they nearly burst at his tales. When the laughter stopped, Aleksei Maksimovitch Simtsoff remembered that he too had once had a daughter. "Her name was Lidka ... she was very stout ..." More than this he did not seem to remember, for he looked at them all, was silent and smiled ... in a guilty way. Those men spoke very little to each other about their past, and they recalled it very seldom and then only its general outlines. When they did mention it, it was in a cynical tone. Probably, this was just as well, since, in many people, remembrance of the past kills all present energy and deadens all hope for the future. * * * * * On rainy, cold, or dull days in the late autumn, these "creatures that once were men" gathered in the eatinghouse of Vaviloff. They were well known there, where some feared them as thieves and rogues, and some looked upon them contemptuously as hard drinkers, although they respected them, thinking that they were clever. The eating-house of Vaviloff was the club of the main street, and the "creatures that once were men" were its most intellectual members. On Saturday evenings or Sunday mornings, when the eating-house was packed, the "creatures that once were men" were only too welcome guests. They brought with them, besides the forgotten and poverty-stricken inhabitants of the street, their own spirit, in which there was something that brightened the lives of men exhausted and worn out in the struggle for existence, as great drunkards as the inhabitants of Kuvalda's shelter, and, like them, outcasts from the town. Their ability to speak on all subjects, their freedom of opinion, skill in repartee, courage in the presence of those of whom the whole street was in terror, together with their daring demeanour, could not but be pleasing to their companions. Then, too, they were well versed in law, and could advise, write petitions, and help to swindle without incurring the risk of punishment. For all this they were paid with vodki and flattering admiration of their talents.