The Smokestack smiled quietly. He hit his knife on the table, and shouted to the waiter: "A bottle of beer. So it can't be otherwise? That's curious. Yes--we'll see who will do whom." "Do, please, let me live with you," Yevsey repeated. "Well, we'll live together. All right." "I'll come to you to-day." "Come on." The Smokestack began to drink his beer in silence. When they returned to the office, they found Dorimedont Lukin there, who hastened up to Yevsey. His bandages had loosened, the one eye visible was suffused with blood. "Did you hear about Rayisa?" he inquired gravely. "Yes, I did." "She did it out of--it was drink that did it, upon my word," whispered the spy, putting his uninjured hand to his breast. "I won't go back there any more," said Yevsey. "What then? Where will you go?" "I am going to live with Kapiton Ivanovich." "Um-m-m!" Dorimedont suddenly became embarrassed, and looked around. "Take care! He's not in his right senses. They keep him here from pity. He's even a dangerous man. Be careful with him. Keep mum about all you know." Yevsey thought the spy would fly into a passion. He was surprised at his whispering, and listened attentively to what he said. "I am going to leave the city. Good-by. I am going to tell my chief about you, and when he needs a new man, he will take you, rest assured. Move your bed and whatever there is in my rooms to your new quarters. Take the things to-day, do you hear? I'll go from there this evening to a hotel. Here are five rubles for you. They'll be useful to you. Now, keep quiet, do you understand?" He continued to whisper long and rapidly, his eyes running about suspiciously on all sides, and when the door opened he started from his chair as if to run away. The smell of an ointment emanated from him. He seemed to have grown less bulky and lower in stature, and to have lost his importance. "Good-by," he said, placing his hand on Yevsey's shoulder. "Live carefully, don't trust people, especially women. Know the value of money. Buy with silver, save the gold, don't scorn copper, defend yourself with iron--a Cossack saying. I am a Cossack, you know." It was hard and tiresome for Yevsey to listen to his softened voice. He did not believe one word of the spy's, and, as always, feared him. Klimkov felt relieved when he walked away, and went eagerly at his work, trying to use it as a shield against the recollection of Rayisa and all other troublesome thoughts. Something turned and bestirred itself within him that day. He felt he was standing on the eve of another life, and gazed after the Smokestack from the corners of his eyes. The old man bent over his table in a cloud of grey smoke. Yevsey involuntarily thought: "How everything happens at once. There she cut her throat, and now maybe I will--" He could not picture to himself what might be; in fact, he did not understand what he wanted, and impatiently awaited the evening, working quickly in an endeavor to shorten the time.