“Why, Stupendief, don’t you know, the ‘husband’ in ‘Provincialka,’ ” whined Pavel Pavlovitch, in the very sweetest of tones; “but that belongs to another set of fond memories—after you departed, in fact, when Mr. Bagantoff had honoured us with his friendship, just as you had done before him, only that his lasted five whole years.” “Bagantoff? What Bagantoff? Do you mean that same Bagantoff who was serving down in your town? Why, he also——” “Yes, yes! quite so. He also, he also!” cried the enthusiastic Pavel Pavlovitch, seizing upon Velchaninoff’s accidental slip. “Of course! So that there you are—there’s the whole company. Bagantoff played the ‘count,’ the dear departed was the ‘Provincialka,’ and I was the ‘husband,’ only that the part was taken away from me, for incapacity, I suppose!” “Yes; fancy _you_ a Stupendief. You’re a—you’re first a Pavel Pavlovitch Trusotsky!” said Velchaninoff, contemptuously, and very unceremoniously. “But look here! Bagantoff is in town; I know he is, for I have seen him. Why don’t you go to see _him_ as well as myself?” “My dear sir, I’ve been there every day for the last three weeks. He won’t receive me; he’s ill, and can’t receive! And, do you know, I have found out that he really is very ill! Fancy my feelings—a five-year’s friend! Oh, my dear Alexey Ivanovitch! you don’t know what my feelings are in my present condition of mind. I assure you, at one moment I long for the earth to open and swallow me up, and the next I feel that I _must_ find one of those old friends, eyewitnesses of the past, as it were, if only to weep on his bosom, only to weep, sir—give you my word.” “Well, that’s about enough for to-night; don’t you think so?” said Velchaninoff, cuttingly. “Oh, too—too much!” cried the other, rising. “It must be four o’clock; and here am I agitating your feelings in the most selfish way.” “Now, look here; I shall call upon you myself, and I hope that you will then——but, tell me honestly, are you drunk to-night?” “Drunk! not the least in the world!” “Did you drink nothing before you came here, or earlier?” “Do you know, my dear Alexey Ivanovitch, you are quite in a high fever!” “Good-night. I shall call to-morrow.” “And I have noticed it all the evening, really quite delirious!” continued Pavel Pavlovitch, licking his lips, as it were, with satisfaction as he pursued this theme. “I am really quite ashamed that I should have allowed myself to be so awkward as to agitate you. Well, well; I’m going! Now you must lie down at once and go to sleep.” “You haven’t told me where you live,” shouted Velchaninoff after him as he left the room. “Oh, didn’t I? Pokrofsky Hotel.” Pavel Pavlovitch was out on the stairs now. “Stop!” cried Velchaninoff, once more. “You are not ‘running away,’ are you?” “How do you mean, ‘running away?’ ” asked Pavel Pavlovitch, turning round at the third step, and grinning back at him, with his eyes staring very wide open.