“Don’t shout so—don’t shout! Why make such a noise?” cried Pavel Pavlovitch. “I’m not making a fool of you! Do you know what you are to me now?” and he suddenly seized Velchaninoff’s hand, and kissed it before Velchaninoff could recollect himself. “There, that’s what you are to me _now_; and now I’ll go to the devil.” “Wait a bit—stop!” cried Velchaninoff, recollecting himself; “there’s something I wished to say to you.” Pavel Pavlovitch turned back from the door. “You see,” began Velchaninoff, blushing and keeping his eye well away from the other, “you ought to go with me to the Pogoryeltseffs to-morrow—just to thank them, you know, and make their acquaintance.” “Of course, of course; quite so!” said Pavel Pavlovitch readily, and making a gesture of the hand to imply that he knew his duty, and there was no need to remind him of it. “Besides Liza expects you anxiously—I promised her.” “Liza?” Pavel Pavlovitch turned quickly once more upon him. “Liza? Do you know, sir, what this Liza has been to me—has been and is?” he cried passionately and almost beside himself; “but—no!—afterwards—that shall be afterwards! Meanwhile it’s not enough for me, Alexey Ivanovitch, that we have drunk together; there’s another satisfaction I must have, sir!” He placed his hat on a chair, and, panting with excitement, gazed at his companion with much the same expression as before. “Kiss me, Alexey Ivanovitch!” “Are you drunk?” cried the other, drawing back. “Yes, I am—but kiss me all the same, Alexey Ivanovitch—oh, do! I kissed your hand just now, you know.” Alexey Ivanovitch was silent for a few moments, as though stunned by the blow of a cudgel. Then he quickly bent down to Pavel Pavlovitch (who was about the height of his shoulder), and kissed his lips, from which proceeded a disagreeably powerful odour of wine. He performed the action as though not quite certain of what he was doing. “Well! _now, now!_” cried Pavel Pavlovitch, with drunken enthusiasm, and with his eyes flashing fiercely; “_now_—look here—I’ll tell you what! I thought at that time: ‘Surely not _he_, too! If _this_ man,’ I thought, ‘if _this_ man is guilty too—then whom am I ever to trust again!’ ” Pavel Pavlovitch suddenly burst into tears. “So now you must understand _how_ dear a friend you are to me henceforth.” With these words he took his hat and rushed out of the room. Velchaninoff stood for several minutes in one spot, just as he had done after Pavel Pavlovitch’s first visit. “It’s merely a drunken sally—nothing more!” he muttered. “Absolutely nothing further!” he repeated, when he was undressed and settled down in his bed. CHAPTER VIII.