“Wheugh!” said the man, “I should think so! It’s been a steamy day—just the day for it!” By the time town was reached—half-past ten—the whole sky was overcast. “I am coming to your house,” said Pavel to Velchaninoff, when almost at the door. “Quite so; but I warn you, I feel very unwell to-night!” “All right—I won’t stay too long.” When the two men passed under the gateway, Pavel Pavlovitch disappeared into the ’dvornik’s’ room for a minute, to speak to Mavra. “What did you go in there for?” asked Velchaninoff severely as they mounted the stairs and reached his own door. “Oh—nothing—nothing at all,—just to tell them about the coachman.——” “Very well. Mind, I shall not allow you to drink!” Pavel Pavlovitch did not answer. Velchaninoff lit a candle, while Pavel threw himself into a chair;—then the former came and stood menacingly before him. “I may have told you I should have _my_ last word to say to-night, as well as you!” he said with suppressed anger in his voice and manner: “Here it is. I consider conscientiously that things are square between you and me, now; and therefore there is no more to be said, understand me, about _anything_. Since this is so, had you not better go, and let me close the door after you?” “Let’s cry ‘quits’ first, Alexey Ivanovitch,” said Pavel Pavlovitch, gazing into Velchaninoff’s eyes with great sweetness. “Quits?” cried the latter, in amazement; “you strange man, what are we to cry quits about? Are you harping upon your promise of a ‘last word’?” “Yes.” “Oh, well, we have nothing more to cry quits for. We have been quits long since,” said Velchaninoff. “Dear me, do you really think so?” cried Pavel Pavlovitch, in a shrill, sharp voice, pressing his two hands tightly together, finger to finger, as he held them up before his breast. Velchaninoff said nothing. He rose from his seat and began to walk up and down the room. The word “Liza” resounded through and through his soul like the voice of a bell. “Well, what is there that you still consider unsettled between us?” he asked at last, looking angrily at Pavel, who had never ceased to follow him with his eyes—always holding his hands before his breast, finger tip to finger tip. “Don’t go down there any more,” said Pavel, almost in a whisper, and rising from his seat with every indication of humble entreaty.