"It could not be worse. When you die you have only God to deal with ... but here you have to deal with men ... and men--what are they?" "Enough! ... Be quiet!" interrupted Kuvalda, angrily. And in the dawn, which filled the dosshouse, a solemn stillness reigned over all. Long and silently they sat at the feet of their dead companion, seldom looking at him, and both plunged in thought. Then Tyapa asked: "Will you bury him?" "I? No, let the police bury him!" "You took money from Vaviloff for this petition ... and I will give you some if you have not enough." ... "Though I have his money ... still I shall not bury him." "That is not right. You are robbing the dead. I will tell them all that you want to keep his money...." Tyapa threatened him. "You are a fool, you old devil!" said Kuvalda, contemptuously. "I am not a fool ... but it is not right nor friendly." "Enough! Be off!" "How much money is there?" "Twenty-five roubles, ..." said Kuvalda, absently. "So! ... You might gain a five-rouble note...." "You old scoundrel! ..." And looking into Tyapa's face the Captain swore. "Well, what? Give ..." "Go to the Devil! ... I am going to spend this money in erecting a monument to him." "What does he want that for?" "I will buy a stone and an anchor. I shall place the stone on the grass, and attach the anchor to it with a very heavy chain." "Why? You are playing tricks ..." "Well ... It is no business of yours." "Look out! I shall tell ..." again threatened Tyapa. Aristid Fomich looked at him sullenly and said nothing. Again they sat there in that silence which, in the presence of the dead, is so full of mystery. "Listen ... They are coming!" Tyapa got up and went out of the dosshouse. Then there appeared at the door the Doctor, the Police Inspector of the district, and the examining Magistrate or Coroner. All three came in turn, looked at the dead teacher, and then went out, throwing suspicious glances at Kuvalda. He sat there, without taking any notice of them, until the Police Inspector asked him: "Of what did he die?" "Ask him... I think his evil life hastened his end." "What?" asked the Coroner. "I say that he died of a disease to which he had not been accustomed ..." "H'm, yes. Had he been ill long?" "Bring him over here, I cannot see him properly," said the Doctor in a melancholy tone. "Probably there are signs of ..." "Now, then, ask someone here to carry him out!" the Police Inspector ordered Kuvalda. "Go and ask them yourself! He is not in my way here ..." the Captain replied, indifferently. "Well! ..." shouted the Inspector, making a ferocious face. "Phew!" answered Kuvalda, without moving from his place and gnashing his teeth restlessly. "The Devil take it!" shouted the Inspector, so madly that the blood rushed to his face. "I'll make you pay for this! I'll--" "Good morning, gentlemen!" said the merchant Petunikoff, with a sweet smile, making his appearance in the doorway.