"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" scolded his young hostess. "You can't even drink it without choking over it. I can forgive it in your adored Nasanski, who is a notorious drunkard, but for you, a handsome, promising young man, not to be able to sit down to table without vodka, it is really melancholy. But that is Nasanski's doing too!" Her husband, who was glancing through the regimental orders that had just come in, suddenly called out-- "Just listen! 'Lieutenant Nasanski has received a month's leave from the regiment to attend to his private affairs.' Tut, tut! What does that mean? He has been tippling again? You, Yuri Alexievich, are said, you know, to visit him. Is it a fact that he has begun to drink heavily?" Romashov looked embarrassed and lowered his gaze. "No, I have not observed it, but he certainly does drink a little now and again, you know." "Your Nasanski is offensive to me," remarked Shurochka in a low voice, trembling with suppressed bitterness. "If it were in my power I would have a creature like that shot as if he were a mad dog. Such officers are a disgrace to their regiment." Almost directly after supper was over, Nikoläiev, who in eating had displayed no less energy than he had just done at his writing-table, began to gape, and at last said quite plainly-- "Do you know, I think I'll just take a little nap. Or if one were to go straight off to the Land of Nod, as they used to express it in our good old novels----" "A good idea, Vladimir Yefimovich," said Romashov, interrupting him in, as he thought, a careless, dreamy tone, but as he rose from table he thought sadly, "They don't stand on ceremony with me here. Why on earth do I come?" It seemed to him that it afforded Nikoläiev a particular pleasure to turn him out of the house; but just as he was purposely saying good-bye to his host first, he was already dreaming of the delightful moment when, in taking leave of Shurochka, he would feel at the same time the strong yet caressing pressure of a beloved one's hand. When this longed-for moment at length arrived he found himself in such a state of happiness that he did not hear Shurochka say to him-- "Don't quite forget us. You know you are always welcome. Besides, it is far more healthy for you to spend your evenings with us than to sit drinking with that dreadful Nasanski. Also, don't forget we stand on no ceremony with you." He heard her last words as it were in a dream, but he did not realize their meaning till he reached the street. "Yes, that is true indeed; they don't stand on ceremony with me," whispered he to himself with the painful bitterness in which young and conceited persons of his age are so prone to indulge. V