"You said you weren't coming here, you deceivers. Well, all right. This is my cousin Yevsey Klimkov. I told you about him. This is Olya--Olga Konstantinova, and this is Aleksey Stepanovich Makarov." Klimkov bowed clumsily and silently pressed the hands of his new acquaintances. "There, he's going to 'noose' me in," he thought. "It's better for me to go away." But he did not go away, though he looked around again, fearful lest he see one of the spies. He saw none, however. "He's not a very free sort of a fellow," said Yakov to the girl. "He's not a pair to me, sinner that I am. He's a quiet fellow." "You needn't feel constrained with us. We are simple people," said Olga. She was taller than Yevsey by an entire head, and her size was heightened by her luxuriant glossy hair, which she wore combed high. Her grey-blue eyes smiled serenely in a pale oval face. The expression of the man in the sleeveless jacket was intelligent and kind. His eyes were screwed up and his ears large. His motions were slow. In walking he moved his apparently powerful body with a peculiar sort of unconcern. "Are we going to wander about here long, like unrepentant sinners?" he asked in a soft bass. "What else should we do?" asked Yakov. "Let's sit down somewhere." Olga bent her head to look into Klimkov's face. "Have you ever been here before?" "No. This is the first time." "Do you find it interesting?" "Yes, I like it." He walked to her side trying for some reason to lift his feet higher; by which walking became awkward. They sat down at a table, and called for beer. Yakov made jokes, while Makarov whistled softly and regarded the public with his screwed-up eyes. "Have you any companions?" asked Olga. "No, not one." "That's what I thought at once. I thought you were a solitary person," she said smiling. "Lonely people have a peculiar gait. Altogether there's something noticeable about them. How old are you?" "I'll soon be nineteen." "Look, there's a spy!" Makarov exclaimed quietly. Yevsey jumped to his feet, but quickly resumed his seat, and looked at Olga to see if she had observed his involuntary movement of alarm. He could not make out, however. She was silently and attentively examining Melnikov's dark figure, which slowly moved through the passageway between the tables as if with an effort. Melnikov walked with bent neck and eyes fastened on the ground. His arms hung at his side as if dislocated. "He walks like Judas to the aspen tree," said Yakov in a subdued voice. "He must be drunk," observed Makarov. "No, he's always like that," was on the tip of Yevsey's tongue. He fidgetted in his chair. Melnikov pushed himself through the crowd like a black stone, and was soon lost in its gaily colored stream. "Did you notice how he walked?" Olga asked Klimkov. Yevsey nodded his head. "Of course he's a mean man, but he must be unhappy and lonely." Yevsey raised his head, and looked at her attentively, with expectation.