“Then you have not begun yet?” said Novikoff, evidently pleased. He shook hands with the two workmen, who hastily rose from their seats. It was embarrassing to meet the doctor as a fellow-comrade, when at the hospital he was wont to treat them as his inferiors. Goschienko, looking rather annoyed, then began. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are naturally all desirous to widen our outlook, and to broaden our views of life; and, believing that the best method of self-culture and of self-development lies in a systematic course of reading and an interchange of opinions regarding the books read, we have decided to start this little club….” “That’s right,” sighed Pistzoff approvingly, as he looked round at the company with his bright, dark eyes. “The question now arises: What books ought we to read? Possibly some one here present could make a suggestion regarding the programme that should be adopted?” Schafroff put on his glasses and slowly stood up. In his hand he held a small note-book. “I think,” he began in his dry, uninteresting voice, “I think that our programme should be divided into two parts. For the purpose of intellectual development two elements are undoubtedly necessary: the study of life from its earliest stages, and the study of life as it actually is.” “Schafroff’s getting quite eloquent,” cried Dubova. “Knowledge of the former can be gained by reading standard books of historical and scientific value, and knowledge of the latter, by _belles lettres_, which bring us face to face with life.” “If you go on talking to us like this, we shall soon fall fast asleep.” Dubova could not resist making this remark, and in her eyes there was a roguish twinkle. “I am trying to speak in such a way as to be understood by all,” replied Schafroff gently. “Very well! Speak as best you can!” said Dubova with a gesture expressing her resignation. Sina Karsavina laughed at Schafroff, too, in her pretty way, tossing back her head and showing her white, shapely throat. Hers was a rich, musical laugh. “I have drawn up a programme—but perhaps it would bore you if I read it out?” said Schafroff, with a furtive glance at Dubova. “I propose to begin with ‘The Origin of the Family’ side by side with Darwin’s works, and, in literature, we could take Tolstoi.” “Of course, Tolstoi!” said Von Deitz, looking extremely pleased with himself as he proceeded to light a cigarette. Schafroff paused until the cigarette was lighted, and then continued his list: “Tchekhof, Ibsen, Knut Hamsun—” “But we’ve read them all!” exclaimed Sina Karsavina. Her delightful voice thrilled Yourii, and he said: “Of course! Schafroff forgets that this is not a Sunday school. What a strange jumble, too! Tolstoi and Knut Hamsun—” Schafroff blandly adduced certain arguments in support of his programme, yet in so diffuse a way that no one could understand him.