Litvinov stared with curiosity at ‘the man himself.’ He did not at first sight find in him anything out of the common. He saw before him a gentleman of respectable, somewhat dull exterior, with a broad forehead, large eyes, full lips, a big beard, and a thick neck, with a fixed gaze, bent sidelong and downwards. This gentleman simpered, and said, ‘Mmm ... ah ... very pleased,...’ raised his hand to his own face, and at once turning his back on Litvinov, took a few paces upon the carpet, with a slow and peculiar shuffle, as though he were trying to slink along unseen. Gubaryov had the habit of continually walking up and down, and constantly plucking and combing his beard with the tips of his long hard nails. Besides Gubaryov, there was also in the room a lady of about fifty, in a shabby silk dress, with an excessively mobile face almost as yellow as a lemon, a little black moustache on her upper lip, and eyes which moved so quickly that they seemed as though they were jumping out of her head; there was too a broad-shouldered man sitting bent up in a corner. ‘Well, honoured Matrona Semyonovna,’ began Gubaryov, turning to the lady, and apparently not considering it necessary to introduce Litvinov to her, ‘what was it you were beginning to tell us?’ The lady (her name was Matrona Semyonovna Suhantchikov--she was a widow, childless, and not rich, and had been travelling from country to country for two years past) began with peculiar exasperated vehemence: ‘Well, so he appears before the prince and says to him: “Your Excellency,” he says, “in such an office and such a position as yours, what will it cost you to alleviate my lot? You,” he says, “cannot but respect the purity of my ideas! And is it possible,” he says, “in these days to persecute a man for his ideas?” And what do you suppose the prince did, that cultivated dignitary in that exalted position?’ ‘Why, what did he do?’ observed Gubaryov, lighting a cigarette with a meditative air. The lady drew herself up and held out her bony right hand, with the first finger separated from the rest. ‘He called his groom and said to him, “Take off that man’s coat at once, and keep it yourself. I make you a present of that coat!”’ ‘And did the groom take it?’ asked Bambaev, throwing up his arms. ‘He took it and kept it. And that was done by Prince Barnaulov, the well-known rich grandee, invested with special powers, the representative of the government. What is one to expect after that!’ The whole frail person of Madame Suhantchikov was shaking with indignation, spasms passed over her face, her withered bosom was heaving convulsively under her flat corset; of her eyes it is needless to speak, they were fairly leaping out of her head. But then they were always leaping, whatever she might be talking about. ‘A crying shame, a crying shame!’ cried Bambaev. ‘No punishment could be bad enough!’