He could bear it no longer. Smiling foolishly, he turned to Ivanoff and the officers who were trying to engage his attention. “What is the matter with me?” he thought, half-dazed. “I suppose I ought to strike him … rush at him, and give him one in the eye! Otherwise, I shall look such a fool, for they must all have guessed that I wanted to pick a quarrel….” But, instead of doing this, he pretended to be interested in what Ivanoff and Von Deitz were saying. “As regards women, I don’t altogether agree with Tolstoi,” said the officer complacently. “A woman’s just a female,” replied Ivanoff, “In every thousand men you might find one worthy to be called a man. But women, bah! They’re all alike—just little naked, plump, rosy apes without tails!” “Rather smart, that!” said Von Deitz, approvingly. “And true, too,” thought Novikoff, bitterly. “My dear fellow,” continued Ivanoff, waving his hands close to the other’s nose, “I’ll tell you what, if you were to go to people and say, ‘Whatsoever woman looketh on a man to lust after him hath committed adultery with him already in her heart,’ most of them would probably think that you had made a most original remark.” Von Deitz burst into a fit of hoarse laughter that sounded like the barking of a dog. He had not understood Ivanoff’s joke, but felt sorry not to have made it himself. Suddenly Novikoff held out his hand to him. “What? Are you off?” asked Von Deitz in surprise. Novikoff made no reply. “Where are you going?” asked Sanine. Still Novikoff was silent. He felt that in another moment the grief pent up within his bosom must break forth in a flood of tears. “I know what’s wrong with you,” said Sanine. “Spit on it all!” Novikoff glanced piteously at him. His lips trembled and with a deprecating gesture, he silently went out, feeling utterly overcome at his own helplessness. To soothe himself, he thought: “Of what good would it have been to hit that blackguard in the face? It would have only led to a stupid fight. Better not soil my hands!” But the sense of jealously unsatisfied and of utter impotence still oppressed him, and he returned home in deep dejection. Flinging himself on his bed, he buried his face in the pillows and lay thus almost the whole day long, bitterly conscious that he could do nothing. “Shall we play makao?” asked Malinowsky. “All right!” said Ivanoff.