It grew light, and a pale square piece of sky peeped into the little window. The flies awoke, and buzzed plaintively, darting about on the grey background of the window. Besides the smell of kerosene the room was penetrated with some other odor, thick and irritating. After putting out the lamp Yevsey for some reason washed himself in a great hurry, dressed, and started for the office. CHAPTER XI At about noon Zarubin called out to Yevsey. "Hey there, Klimkov, you know Rayisa Petrovna Fialkovskaya, she's your master Lukin's mistress, isn't she?" "Yes." "There now!" "What's the matter?" asked Yevsey hastily. "She cut her throat." Yevsey rose to his feet, stung in the back by a sharp blow of terror. "She was just found in a store-room. Let's go and look." Zarubin ran off, announcing to the clerks on his way: "I told you she was Dorimedont Lukin's mistress." He shouted the word "mistress" with particular emphasis and zest. Yevsey looked after him with wide-open eyes. Before him in the air hung Rayisa's head, her heavy luxuriant hair flowed from it in streams, her face was pale green, her lips were tightly compressed, and instead of eyes there were deep dark stains. Everything round about him was hidden behind the dead face, which Yevsey, numb with terror and pity, was unable to remove from his vision. "Why don't you go to lunch?" asked the Smokestack. Scarcely anybody remained in the office. Yevsey sighed and answered: "My mistress cut her throat." "Oh, yes. Well, go to the café." The Smokestack walked off carefully picking his steps. Yevsey jumped up and seized his hand: "Take me." "Come." "No, take me to stay with you altogether," Yevsey besought him. The Smokestack bent toward him. "What do you mean by 'altogether?'" "To your rooms--to live with you--for all the time." "Aha! Well, in the meantime let's get our lunch. Come on." In the café a canary bird kept up a piercing song. The old man silently ate fried potatoes. Yevsey was unable to eat, and looked into his companion's face inquiringly. "So you want to live with me? Well, come on." When Yevsey heard these words, he instantly felt that they partitioned him off from the terrible life. Encouraged he said gratefully: "I will clean your shoes for you." The Smokestack thrust his long foot shod in a torn boot from under the table. "You needn't clean this one. How about your mistress? Was she a good woman?" The old man's eyes looked directly and kindly, and seemed to say: "Speak the truth." "I don't know," said Yevsey, dropping his head, and for the first time feeling that he used the phrase very often. "So?" said the Smokestack. "So?" "I don't know anything," said Yevsey, disappointed with himself. Suddenly he grew bold. "I see this and that; but what it is, what for, why, I cannot understand. And there must be another life." "Another?" repeated the Smokestack, screwing up his eyes. "Yes. It would be impossible otherwise."