An extraordinary circumstance happened to-day. I got up rather late, and when Mavra brought me my boots I asked her what time it was. Hearing that it was long past ten I dressed hurriedly. I confess I did not want to go to the Department at all, knowing beforehand what black looks I should get from the chief of our division. For some time he’s taken to saying to me, “What ever sort of rot have you always got in your head now, man? Sometimes you tear about like a possessed creature; sometimes you muddle the papers so that the very devil couldn’t make them out; you write the titles without capital letters, and leave out all the dates and numbers!” Hang the fellow! He’s envious, of course, because I sit in the director’s study and mend his excellency’s pens. In short, I shouldn’t have gone to the Department at all if I hadn’t hoped to meet the treasurer, and, perhaps, get the confounded Jew to give me, anyway, a little of my salary in advance. I never came across such a creature! For him to ever advance one the money a single month—why, doomsday will come before that happens! You can beg him, entreat him—however hard up you are the old grey devil won’t give it you. And yet at home his own cook boxes his ears. She does—everybody knows that. I can’t understand what advantage it is to serve in the Department. There are no resources whatsoever. Now, in the Provincial Administration, or in the Common Courts, or Court of Exchequer—that’s quite another thing; there sometimes you’ll see a fellow squeezed up in the corner writing away, in a shabby old coat, and such a fright to look at, and yet see what a nice little villa he rents! You can’t offer him a gilded china cup, for instance; he’ll say, “That’s a doctor’s present.” No, you must give him a pair of carriage horses, or a fine sledge, or beaver fur worth three hundred roubles. He’ll look as meek as meek can be, and talk so sweetly—“May I trouble you to lend me your penknife?” and then he’ll fleece you—till he leaves nothing but the shirt on your back. It’s true, though, our service is more genteel—everything’s so clean, the tables are of red wood, and all the directors say “you.” Indeed, but that it’s a genteel service, I’d have left the Department long ago. [Illustration: “I LOOKED ROUND AND SAW TWO LADIES UNDER AN UMBRELLA, AN OLD LADY AND A YOUNG ONE.” ]