"Yes, indeed," he bowed his old head and sighed. "I used to go very often to the French Theatre. You remember 'L'Aiglon?' Can I chat with you a bit? This silence is simply killing me. Four months of silence! Don't you think, mister writer, of what a sweet, what a wonderful word 'revenge' is? If you write--do write about it! Revenge for having cleaned the streets, for having been thrown out of every Embassy, every Legation, every Consulate--whose three sons are sleeping there, on the Prussian Frontier--forever?--when I begged them to help me and let me go to Paris only to die near my wife? Revenge! Just to see England--torn to pieces, France--robbed, Japan--licking our feet,--to see them separately doing what we suffer combinedly. They all betrayed us, they sold us, they mock at us! We are paying for our readiness to save Serbia. We are dying for it--and I do not regret it. I know that from our dead body, from our bier--poisonous flowers are growing; their fragrancy will send pestilence and destruction to our lucky Allies, and ruin them, and ruin them.... If I only could help it.... If only I could live long enough to witness it." The man looked crazy to me. He evidently is one of those whose minds gave way. His eyes were sparkling flames--while his greenish face with a sluttish beard remained immovable and serious. From away--we both were talking of our village affairs. He continued: "Don't you think I am talking for myself. It is for Russia. I am finished anyhow. Go ahead! Betray me too. Tell them I am Counsellor of State, and a landlord, and marshal of nobility. I do not care! I am finished.... Yet in my better days I had cancer. It was almost a pleasure then. Don't smile, it's true. Now--I need oysters, and fruit, and fine Port wine, and medicine,--and I have bread, which I cannot digest, and they kick me out of every hospital.... I'm sure the cancer is nearing my heart. If I die,--I won't see my remuneration: the downfall of our traitors. Friend,--what can I do to hasten it? How can I avenge Russia?..." "It is a hard question to answer. I think you exaggerate a little. I am myself after a settlement, but I do not go so far. My goal is smaller. I would like to find a man in Petrograd, so that I could make the rest of the world understand what he really is. He is a criminal cretin. Yes, _it is_ this man, exactly. But not at this time. Look around: The Spring is here. Don't you think the air is pacifying? The air calls to a perfect selfishness. So, if I had seen the man right here, I would have shot him of course, but I hate to think of getting into trouble now." "Air! Spring! Are you in love, young man?" Then he grew sad and silent for a while. "No, I can't see any pleasure in Spring." He became sunk in his thoughts, and looked away. I love Winter just because it dies every year, and gives place to a new life! And again the thin birches become green and chastely white. And I know _my birch_ is somewhere--looking for me.