“He means trouble. Doesn’t he want to be taken seriously, only? Let his shaggy friend here have a chat with a friend of yours. He may be a nuisance—” “What rot! Why should one, Stephen? If he comes for me at the door, let him! I wish that little man there would go away. He has annoyed us quite enough.” “Louis, will you give me permission to speak to him on your behalf?” “If that will give you any satisfaction.” Stephen (Staretsky) got up and put himself at Bitzenko’s disposition. The whole party became tumultuous at this. “What the devil are you up to, Stephen? Let them alone.” “You’re not going⸺?” “Tell them to go to hell!” “Stephen, come back, you silly fool!” Stephen Staretsky smiled at this with a sort of worldly indulgence. “You don’t understand. This is the best thing to do,” he seemed to say. “Do you want this to last the whole evening?” he asked the man nearest him. He followed Bitzenko out, and Tarr followed Bitzenko. CHAPTER IV They went over to a small, gaudy, quiet café opposite, Kreisler watching them, but still with his eye on the door near at hand. Tarr was amused now at his position of dummy. He enjoyed crossing the road under Kreisler’s eye, in his service. The evening’s twists were very comic. Imaginative people are easy to convince of the naturalness of anything; and the Russian was the prophet of the necessity of this affair. Stephen was not convinced; but he soon made up his mind that Bitzenko was either Kreisler’s accomplice in some scheme or at least had made up his mind that there could only be one ending to the matter. He went back to the café and, sitting down beside Soltyk again, said: “I’m afraid I was mistaken, Louis. Your German means to fight you or else he has some little game. If you’re sure there’s nothing in it, you must tell him and his little Russian to go to the devil.” While Stephen Staretsky had been away one of Soltyk’s friends told them about Bitzenko. “Don’t you know him, Louis? Maiewski used to know him. He lives in one of those big studios, Rue Ulm, near the Invalides. Il a du pognon, il parait.” Soltyk began patting his cheek gently. But his vanity ached steadily inside. “What is his name?” asked another. “Bitzenko. He once had a duel and blinded a man.” Soltyk looked up and stopped patting his cheek. “How? Blinded him?” somebody asked. “Yes, blinded him.” The blows began to take effect, the atmosphere becoming somehow congenial to them. When Stephen Staretsky delivered his message Soltyk was losing his self-control. The opportunity of killing this obnoxious figure offered him so obstinately by Bitzenko—whom he disliked even more—began to recommend itself to him. This _commis voyageur_ sent to press the attractions of destruction had won his point. Soltyk had been silent. He had been twisting up the corners of a newspaper on the table before him, and appeared struck lazy, into a kind of sullen sleepiness and detachment resembling despair.