He was as red as a lobster, his eyes were starting from his head, and there was foam on his lips. Sanine looked curiously at his mouth, and said: “And this is the man whose calls himself a disciple of Tolstoi!” Von Deitz winced, and tossed his head. “I must beg of you,” he spluttered, ashamed all the while at thus addressing a man with whom till now he had been on friendly terms. “I must beg of you not to mention that. It has nothing whatever to do with this matter.” “Hasn’t it! though?” replied Sanine. “It has a great deal to do with it.” “Yes, but I must ask you,” croaked Von Deitz, becoming hysterical. “Really, this is too much! In short …” “Oh! That’ll do!” replied Sanine, drawing back in disgust from Von Deitz, from whose mouth saliva spurted. “Think what you like; I don’t care. And tell Sarudine that he is an ass!” “You’ve no right, sir, I say, you’ve no right,” shouted Von Deitz. “Very good, very good,” said Tanaroff, quite satisfied “Let us go.” “No!” cried the other, plaintively, as he waved his lanky arms. “How dare he? … what business! … It’s simply …” Sanine looked at him, and, making a contemptuous gesture, walked out of the room. “We will deliver your message to our brother-officer,” said Tanaroff, calling after him. “As you please,” said Sanine, without looking round. He could hear Tanaroff trying to pacify the enraged Von Deitz, and thought to himself, “As a rule the fellow’s an utter fool, but put him on his hobby-horse, and he becomes quite sensible.” “The matter cannot be allowed to rest thus!” cried the implacable Von Deitz, as they went out. From the door of her room, Lida gently called “Volodja!” Sanine stood still. “What is it?” “Come here; I want to speak to you.” Sanine entered Lida’s little room where, owing to the trees in front of the window, soft green twilight reigned. There was a feminine odour of perfume and powder. “How nice it is in here,” said Sanine, with a sigh of relief. Lida stood facing the window, and green reflected lights from the garden flickered round her cheeks and shoulders. “What do you want with me?” he asked kindly. Lida was silent, and she breathed heavily. “Why, what is the matter?” “Are you—not going to fight a duel?” she asked hoarsely, without looking round. “No.” Lida was silent. “Well, what of that?” said Sanine. Lida’s chin trembled. She turned sharply round and murmured quickly: “I can’t understand that, I can’t…” “Oh!” exclaimed Sanine, frowning. “Well, I’m very sorry for you.” Human stupidity and malice surrounded him on all sides. To find such qualities alike in bad folk and good folk, in handsome people as in ugly, proved utterly disheartening. He turned on his heels and went out.