“You are prudent, Elsa,” said Rovinskaya in an oppressed tone. “All this is well. But, what of the chance disease? Infection? Why, that is death? And how can you guess?” “And again—no, madam. I won’t let a man into my bed before I make a detailed medical inspection of him ... I am guaranteed, at the least, against seventy-five per cent.” “The devil!” suddenly exclaimed Rovinskaya with heat and hit the table with her fist. “But, then, what of your Albert ...” “Hans,” the German corrected her meekly. “Pardon me ... Your Hans surely does not rejoice greatly over the fact that you are living here, and that you betray him every day?” Elsa looked at her with sincere, lively amazement. “But gnadige Frau ... I have never yet betrayed him! It is other lost wenches, especially Russian, who have lovers for themselves, on whom they spend their hard-earned money. But that I should ever let myself go as far as that? Pfui!” “A greater fall I have not imagined!” said Rovinskaya loudly and with aversion, getting up. “Pay gentlemen, and let’s go on from here.” When they had gone out into the street, Volodya took her arm and said in an imploring voice: “For God’s sake, isn’t one experiment enough for you?” “Oh, what vulgarity! What vulgarity!” “That’s why I’m saying, let’s drop this experiment.” “No, in any case I am going through with it to the finish. Show me something simpler, more of the medium.” Volodya Chaplinsky, who was all the time in a torment over Ellena Victorovna, offered the most likely thing—to drop into the establishment of Anna Markovna, which was only ten steps away. But it was just here that strong impressions awaited them. Simeon did not want to let them in, and only several gold pieces, which Ryazanov gave him, softened him. They took up a cabinet, almost the same as at Treppel’s, only somewhat shabbier and more faded. At the command of Emma Edwardovna, the girls were herded into the cabinet. But it was the same as letting a goat into a truck-garden or mixing soda and acid. The main mistake, however, was that they let Jennka in there as well—wrathful, irritated, with impudent fires in her eyes. The modest, quiet Tamara was the last to walk in, with her shy and depraved smile of a Monna Lisa. In the end, almost the entire personnel of the establishment gathered in the cabinet. Rovinskaya no longer risked asking “How did you come to this life?” But it must be said, that the inmates of the house met her with an outward hospitality. Ellena Victorovna asked them to sing their usual canonical songs, and they willingly sang: Monday now is come again, They’re supposed to get me out; Doctor Krassov won’t let me out, Well, the devil take him then. And further: Poor little, poor little, poor little me, The public house is closed, My head’s aching me... The love of a loafer Is spice, is spice; But the prostitute Is as cold as ice. Ha-ha-ha!