“I shall paint it well, no fear of that!” exclaimed Kostovsky enthusiastically, once more running all his ten fingers through his coarse locks. After musingly pacing the stage for some moments, he stopped before the stage-manager. “Please tell me all about it, what sort of scenery is wanted, and for what it is needed,” he said in a more calm voice. “You see, this will be the second act. Two people are lost in the steppe at night. The place must be a dull, obscure wilderness, a terrible fear possesses them, and supernatural things take place there. You must paint for us this steppe; everything must be in it: the impression of remoteness, the darkness and clouds, and so vividly that a shiver of dread should run through the public.” “That is enough!” interrupted Kostovsky. “I shall paint you the steppe. I will work the whole night on the stage by lamplight and to-morrow everything will be ready. Have you the necessary material?” “Everything is ready, all that is necessary is to work!” put in the business-manager. But Kostovsky already felt the inspiration of the decorator. He turned away from his superiors, no longer even aware of their presence, and, standing in the centre of the stage, he shouted in a powerful, imperious voice: “Here, Pavel, hurry there! Vanka, here with you! Lively there, you sons of the devil, Kostovsky means to work now!” The stage-workman Pavel and the apprentice Vanka, a nimble, slouchy fellow, passionately devoted to the stage, came rushing in and immediately began to bustle about, spreading the enormous canvas and bringing forward the paints and brushes. “Well,” said the business-manager to the stage-manager, “thank God, he has come to his senses at last; we will not be compelled now to revoke the play! Let us go and have our dinner. He must not be interfered with now.” The whole night the stage was brightly illuminated, and in the empty theatre reigned the quiet of the grave. Only the tread of Kostovsky could be heard as, with his long brush in his hand, he continually approached and retreated from his canvas; all around stood pails and pots of paint. He made rapid strides in his work. With a blue mark under his eye, dirty with paint, with bristling hair and mustaches, he accomplished with his enormous brush a titanic kind of work. His eyes were ablaze and his face looked inspired. He created.