In the billiard-room the two Adjutants of the battalion, Biek-Agamalov and Olisár--the only count in the regiment--were engaged in a game of "Carolina." The stakes were only ale. Olisár--tall, gaunt, sleek, and pomaded--an "old, young man" with wrinkled face and bald crown, scattered freely billiard-room jests and slang. Biek-Agamalov lost both his game and his temper in consequence. In the seat by the window sat Staff-Captain Lieschtschenko--a melancholy individual of forty-five, an altogether miserable figure, the mere sight of which could bore people to death--watching the game. His whole appearance gave the impression of hopeless melancholy. Everything about him was limp: his long, fleshy, wrinkled red nose; his dim, dark-brown thread-like moustache that reached down below his chin. His eyebrows, which grew a good way down to the bridge of his nose, made his eyes look as if he were just about to weep, and his thin, lean body with his sunken chest and sloping shoulders looked like a clothes-horse in its worn and shiny uniform. Lieschtschenko neither smoked, drank, nor played; but he found a strange pleasure in looking at the cards from behind the players' backs, and in following the movements of the balls in the billiard-room. He likewise delighted in listening, huddled up in a dining-room window, to the row and vulgarities of the wildest drinking-bouts. He could thus sit, for hours at a time, motionless as a stone statue, and without uttering a single word. All the officers were so accustomed to this that they almost regarded the silent Lieschtschenko as one of the inevitable fixtures of a normal gambling or drinking bout. After saluting the three officers, Romashov sat down by Lieschtschenko, who courteously made room for him, as with a deep sigh he fixed his sorrowful and friendly, dog-like eyes on him. "How is Maria Viktorovna?" asked Romashov in the careless and intentionally loud voice which is generally employed in conversation with deaf or rather stupid people, and which all the regiment (including the ensigns) used when they happened to address Lieschtschenko. "Quite well, thanks," replied Lieschtschenko with a still deeper sigh. "You understand--her nerves; but, you know, at this time of year----" "But why did she not come with you? But perhaps Maria Viktorovna is not coming to the soirée to-night?" "What do you mean? of course she's coming; but you see, my dear fellow, there was no room for me in the cab. She and Raisa Peterson took a trap between them, and as you'll understand, my dear fellow, they said to me, 'Don't come here with your dirty, rough boots, they simply ruin our clothes.'" "Croisez in the middle--a nice 'kiss.' Pick up the ball, Biek," cried Olisár. "I am not a lackey. Do you think I'll pick up your balls?" replied Biek-Agamalov in a furious tone. Lieschtschenko caught in his mouth the tips of his long moustaches, and thereupon began sucking and chewing them with an extremely thoughtful and troubled air.