"Very well, I'll try," Piotr assented meditatively. Maklakov did not look at them, but silently twisted his mustache. Dinner was served. A round pock-marked modest-looking man made his appearance in the room at the same time as the waiter. He smiled at everyone benevolently, and shook Yevsey's hand vigorously. "My name is Solovyov," he said to him. "Have you heard the news, friends? This evening there will be a banquet of the revolutionists at Chistov's hall. Three of our fellows will go there as butlers, among others you, Piotr." "I again?" shouted Piotr, and his face became covered with red blotches. His anger made him look older. "The third time in two months that I have had to play lackey! Excuse me! I don't want to." "Don't address me on the subject," said Solovyov affably. "What does it mean? Why do they choose just me to be a servant?" "You look like one," said Sasha, with a smile. "There will be three," Solovyov repeated sighing. "What do you say to having some beer? All right?" Piotr opened the door, and shouted in an irritated voice: "Half a dozen beer," and he went to the window clenching his fists and cracking his knuckles. "There, you see, Maklakov?" said Sasha. "Among us no one wants to work seriously, with enthusiasm. But the revolutionists are pushing right on--banquets, meetings, a shower of literature, open propaganda in the factories!" Maklakov maintained silence, and did not look at Sasha. Round Solovyov then took up the word, smiling amiably. "I caught a girl to-day at the railroad station with books. I had already noticed her in a villa in the summer. 'Well,' thought I, 'amuse yourself, my dear.' To-day, as I was walking in the station with no people to track, I was looking about, and there I see her marching along carrying a handbag. I went up to her, and respectfully proposed that she have a couple of words with me. I noticed she started and paled, and hid the bag behind her back. 'Ah,' thinks I, 'my dear little stupid, you've gotten yourself into it.' Well, I immediately took her to the police station, they opened her luggage, and there was the last issue of 'Emancipation' and a whole lot more of their noxious trash. I took the girl to the Department of Safety. What else was I to do? If you can't get Krushin pike, you must eat blinkers. In the carriage she kept her little face turned away from me. I could see her cheeks burned and there were tears in her eyes. But she kept mum. I asked her, 'Are you comfortable, madam?' Not a word in reply." Solovyov chuckled softly. Trembling rays of wrinkles covered his face. "Who is she?" asked Maklakov. "Dr. Melikhov's daughter." "Ah," drawled Sasha, "I know him." "A respectable man. He has the orders of Vladimir and Anna," remarked Solovyov. "I know him," repeated Sasha. "A charlatan, like all the rest. He tried to cure me." "God alone can cure you now," said Solovyov in his affable tone. "You are ruining your health quickly." "Go to the devil!" roared Sasha.