“But why, Timofèy Semyònych—the case is a most exceptional one?” “Certainly. But during the whole term of his service Ivan Matvyèich has been leading up to this result. He’s too nimble—yes, and too conceited. Always ‘progress’ and new-fangled ideas—and that’s where progress ends.” “Well, but this is an altogether extraordinary occurrence; one can’t put it forward as a general rule for all progressists.” “Yes, but that’s just how it is. You see, all this comes of too much learning—it does, believe me, sir. People that have too much learning always will poke their noses everywhere, and particularly where they’re not wanted. However, of course you know best,” he added, in a half-offended tone; “I’m an old man, and not so well educated as you; I entered the service from a school for soldiers’ children, and my fifty-years’ jubilee was this year.” “Oh no, indeed, Timofèy Semyònych, how can you! On the contrary, Ivan Matvyèich longs for your advice, for your guidance. Even, so to say, with tears.” “‘Even, so to say, with tears.’ H’m, indeed! Well, those are crocodile tears, and mustn’t be too much believed in. Now, just tell me, what put it into his head to go abroad? And on what money? He has nothing, has he?” “Only savings, Timofèy Semyònych,” I answered, sadly, “from the last perquisites. He only wanted to travel for three months—to Switzerland—to the fatherland of William Tell.” “William Tell. H’m!” “And to Naples, to see the spring there. He wished to see the museums, the life, the animals.” “H’m, animals? In my opinion all that is nothing but pride. What animals? Animals? Haven’t we animals enough at home? We have zoological gardens, museums, camels. There are wild bears quite near to Petersburg. And now, you see, he went and tumbled into a crocodile.” “Timofèy Semyònych, for mercy’s sake—a man in trouble—a man comes as to his friend, as to an elder relative, imploring advice, and you—reproach him. Have pity, at least, upon the unhappy Elyòna Ivànovna!” “You are speaking of his wife? A charming lady!” remarked Timofèy Semyònych, evidently softening, and taking a pinch of snuff with much gusto. “A person of subtle refinement. So nice and plump, and the head just on one side—just a _leetle_ on one side. Very agreeable—yes. Andrey Osìpych mentioned her again the day before yesterday.” “Mentioned her?” “Mentioned her, and in the most flattering terms. ‘Such a bust,’ he said, ‘such a glance, such hair! A sugar-plum,’ he said, ‘not a lady!’ and he began to laugh. They are both young people still.” (Here Timofèy Semyònych blew his nose loudly.) “And yet, you see, a young man, and what a career he’s made for himself!” “Yes; but this is quite another case, Timofèy Semyònych.” “Oh, of course, of course!” “Well then, Timofèy Semyònych, how is it to be?” “Why, what can I do?” “Advise us, guide us, as a man of experience—as a parent! What shall we do? Go to the authorities, or——”