He paid his bill and left. Suddenly the sound of a crowd gathering in the street was heard. From the window Elisaveta and Trirodov could see the fellow in the red shirt sauntering backwards and forwards in the street, only a few paces from the tavern, and annoying the passers-by. He could be heard shouting: “I’ll report you! I’ll arrest you! Hand over your ten kopecks.” Many, afraid of him, acceded to his request. Borodulin clutched at every passer-by. He threw off the men’s caps, he pinched the women, while he pulled young boys by the ear. The women ran from him shrieking. The more timid men also ran. The bolder ones paused in menacing attitudes. These Borodulin did not dare to molest. Small boys ran behind him in a crowd, laughing and hooting. Borodulin grumbled. “You’d better look out. Do you know who I am?” “Well, who are you?” asked a young fellow whom he jostled. “You’re a pothouse plug.” A crowd formed round them. Their faces were morose and unfriendly. Borodulin was afraid, but he showed a bold front and boasted. He shouted: “Two or three of you will be necessary!” A sudden attack was made upon Borodulin. A young robust fellow sprang forward from the crowd with a shout, an enormous cobblestone in his hand. “What’s this dog showing his teeth for?” He hit Borodulin on the head with the stone. It was unfortunately too well aimed. Borodulin fell. Others attacked him as he lay there. The workman who hit him with the stone made his escape. Elisaveta and Trirodov were looking out of the window. Trirodov exclaimed: “The Cossacks!” The people in the street scattered in all directions. The mutilated corpse lay in a pool of blood on the pavement. CHAPTER XVII Ostrov caused Trirodov a great deal of annoyance. More than once Trirodov returned to the earlier circumstances of their acquaintance and to their recent meeting at Skorodozh. The week having elapsed, Ostrov paid Trirodov another visit. That whole week Ostrov could not get rid of his confusion and uneasiness. The details of his meeting with Trirodov became absurdly entangled in his memory. He kept on forgetting the day of the week it was. The week passed rather quickly for him. This was possibly due to his having made several interesting acquaintances. He had become quite a noticeable personage about town. Ostrov made his visit late on Tuesday evening. He was received at once, and led into a chamber on the ground floor. Trirodov came in almost immediately. Not a little astonished, he asked unwillingly: “Well, what can I do for you, Denis Alekseyevitch?” “I’ve come for the money,” said Ostrov gruffly. “To receive the promised relief at your bountiful hands.” “I did not expect you until Wednesday,” replied Trirodov. “Why Wednesday when Tuesday is just as good?” said Ostrov with a savage smile. “Or do you find it so hard to part with your cash? Have you become a bourgeois, Giorgiy Sergeyevitch?”