Yourii looked at the speaker’s dull, unintelligent countenance, with its tired little eyes behind their glasses, and thought that such a man as that was in truth nothing. “The individual is a cypher. It is only they who emerge from the masses, yet are never out of touch with them, and who do not oppose the crowd, as _bourgeois_ heroes usually do—it is only they who have real strength.” “And in what does such strength consist, pray?” asked Ivanoff aggressively, as he leant across the table. “Is it in fighting against the actual government? Very likely. But in their struggle for personal happiness, how can the masses help them?” “Ah! there you go! You’re a super-man, and want happiness of a special kind to suit yourself. But, we men of the masses, we think that in fighting for the welfare of others our own happiness lies. The triumph of the idea—that is happiness!” “Yet, suppose the idea is a false one?” “That doesn’t matter. Belief’s the thing!” Schafroff tossed his head stubbornly. “Bah!” said Ivanoff in a contemptuous tone, “every man believes that his own occupation is the most important and most indispensable thing in the whole world. Even a ladies’ tailor thinks so. You know that perfectly well, but apparently you have forgotten it; therefore, as a friend I am bound to remind you of the fact.” With involuntary hatred Yourii regarded Ivanoff’s flabby, perspiring face, and grey, lustreless eyes. “And, in your opinion, what constitutes happiness, pray?” he asked, as his lips curled in contempt. “Well, most assuredly not in perpetual sighing and groaning, or incessant questionings such as, ‘I sneezed just now. Was that the right thing to do? Will it not cause harm to some one? Have I, in sneezing, fulfilled my destiny?’” Yourii could read hatred in the speaker’s cold eyes, and it infuriated him to think that Ivanoff considered himself his superior intellectually, and was laughing at him. “We’ll soon see,” he thought. “That’s not a programme,” he retorted, striving to let his face express intense disdain, as well as reluctance to pursue the discussion. “Do you really need one? If I desire, and am able, to do something, I do it. That’s my programme!” “A fine one indeed!” exclaimed Schafroff hotly, Yourii merely shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. For a while they all went on drinking in silence. Then Yourii turned to Sanine and proceeded to expound his views concerning the Supreme Good. He intended Ivanoff to hear what he said, though he did not look at him. Schafroff listened with reverence and enthusiasm. While Ivanoff who had partly turned his back to Yourii received each new statement with a mocking “We’ve heard all that before!” At last Sanine languidly interposed. “Oh! do stop all this,” he said. “Don’t you find it terribly boring? Every man is entitled to his own opinion, surely?”