"You looked through the books for two hours or more, agreed on a price, and suddenly--why?" cried the old man in excitement. "Well, because I recollected your disgusting face. You haven't given up the ghost yet? What a pity!" The stooping man pronounced his words slowly, not loud, and precisely. He left the shop deliberately, with a heavy tread. For a minute the old man looked after him, then tore himself from where he was standing, and advanced upon Yevsey with short steps. "Follow him, find out where he lives," he said in a rapid whisper, clutching the boy's shoulder. "Go! Don't let him see you! You understand? Quick!" Yevsey swayed from side to side, and would have fallen, had the old man not held him firmly on his feet. He felt a void in his breast, and his master's words crackled there drily like peas in a rattle. "What are you trembling about, you donkey? I tell you--" When Yevsey felt his master's hand release his shoulder, he ran to the door. "Stop, you fool!" Yevsey stood still. "Where are you going? Why, you won't be able--oh, my God! Get out of my sight!" Yevsey darted into a corner. It was the first time he had seen his master so violent. He realized that his annoyance was tinged with much fear, a feeling very familiar to himself; and notwithstanding the fact that his own soul was desolate with fear, it pleased him to see Raspopov's alarm. The little dusty old man threw himself about in the shop like a rat in a trap. He ran to the door, thrust his head into the street, stretched his neck out, and again turned back into the shop. His hands groped over his body impotently, and he mumbled and hissed, shaking his head till his glasses jumped from his nose. "Umm, well, well--the dirty blackguard--the idea! The dirty blackguard! I'm alive--alive!" Several minutes later he shouted to Yevsey. "Close the shop!" On entering his room the old man crossed himself. He drew a deep breath, and flung himself on the black sofa. Usually so sleek and smooth, he was now all ruffled. His face had grown wrinkled, his clothes had suddenly become too large for him, and hung in folds from his agitated body. "Tell Rayisa to give me some peppered brandy, a large glassful." When Yevsey brought the brandy the master rose, drank it down in one gulp, and opening his mouth wide looked a long time into Yevsey's face. "Do you understand that he insulted me?" "Yes." "And do you understand why?" "No." The old man raised his hand, and silently shook his finger. "I know him--I know a great deal," he said in a broken voice. Removing his black cap he rubbed his bare skull with his hands, looked about the room, again touched his head with his hands, and lay down on the sofa. Rayisa Petrovna brought in supper. "Are you tired?" she asked as she set the table. "It seems I am a little under the weather. Fever, I think. Give me another glass of brandy. Sit down with us. It's too early for you to go."