'I'm sorry, old chap,' said Samoylenko, who had now counted to thirty-five. 'But '
'Respect privacy!' Layevsky broke in. 'This endless running down of other people, all this oohing and ahing, this constant checking up and eavesdropping, and these displays of friendly sympathy—to blazes with them! They offer me a loan and impose conditions! Do they take me for a child? They treat me like God knows what. I don't need a ^mg!' shouted Layevsky, now reeling with agitation and fearing another bout of hysterics.
Now he couldn't leave on Saturday, the thought flashed through his mind.
'I don't need a thing,' he went on. 'I only ask you to spare me this tutelage. Being neither a minor nor a lunatic, I beg you to remove your surveillance.'
In came the deacon. Seeing Layevsky pale and waving his arms about whileaddressing these strange words to the portrait ofPrince Vorontsov, he stood near the door as if transfixed.
'These constant probings of my psyche—they insult my dignity as a human being,' Layevsky went on. 'And Imust ask thcse self-appointed snoopers to stop spying on me. Cut it out!'
'What, er, what was that, sir ?' Samoylenko asked. Having now reached a hundred, he was gro^mg purple in the face. He went up to Layevsky.
'Cut it out!' Layevsky re^uted, ^oking for bruth and pi^^g up his op.
'I am a Russian gentle^^,' Samoyl^io enunciated. 'I am a doctor, md I hold the ^^ of colonel. I have never mooped, sir/ he shouted in a cracked voice, 'and I do not permit insults! So you shut up!'
Never having seen the doctor look so grandiose, majestic, purple md awe-inspiring, the deacon clapped his lund over his mouth, into thc lull and burst out laughing. Like a man in a dream, Layevsky saw Von Koren stand up, place his ^mds in his trouser ^xkeu, and hold this ^^ as if awaiting further developments. The calmness of his posture struck Laycvsky as impudent and insulting in the ultimate degree.
'Kindly take back your words!' shouted Samoylenko.
But Layevsky couTd no longer remember what those words lud been.
'Leave me alone,' he answered. 'I want nothing. All I want is for you md your Gcrnun-Jewish friends to lcavc me in peace. Othe^rise I shall take steps. I shall fight, sir!'
'Now we're beginning to understand,' said Von Koren, emerging from the uble. 'Mr. Layevsky desires to indulge in a little duelling before he leaves. I cm accommodate him. Sir, I accept your challenge.'
'Challenge?' U.yevsky quietly articulated, going up to the zoologist and glaring at his dark forehead and curly hair with revulsion. 'Chal- lenge? Very well. I detest and abominate you!'
'That's all right then. Early tomorrow morning, ncar Kerbalay's place. Suit yomsclf about the dcuils, and now buzz off.'
'I lute you, I've hated you for ages,' panted Layevsky in a low voice. 'A dnel? Certainly, sir.'
'Get him out of here, Samoylenko,' Von Koren said, 'or I'll have to go myself. He's liable to bite.'
Von Koren's calm tone soothed the doctor, who seemed td come to with a start, recovering his senses. Putting both arms round uyevsky's waist, he drew him away from the zoologist.
'My friends, my good, kind friends,' he muttered affcctionatcly, in a voice vibrant with emotion. 'You've had a bit of a dust up, and th:tt's that—quite enough in fact. My friends '
Hearing thc gcntlc, amiablc voice, Layevsky scnscd th.it somcthing fantastic and grotcsquc had invaded his life—it was likc bcing nearly run ovcr by a train. Hc almost burst into tears, then made a gesture of resigiation and ran out of thc room.
'To feel someone hating you and to make such a wretched, despic- able, abject exhibition of yourself in front of him—God, how awful !' Such were his thoughts as he sat in the Pavilion little later, feeling as if the other man's detestation, so recently experienced, had covered his body with rust. 'Ye Gods, how crass!'
Cold water and cognac cheered him somewhat. He clearly pictured Von Koren's calm, supercilious face, his expression of the previous day, his rug-like shirt, his voice, his white hands. And a great hatred, intense and ravening, threshed inside his chest, craving an outlet. He imagined himself knocking Von Koren do^ and trampling him in the dust. He remembered everything, including the minutest details, astonished that he had found it in him to bestow that sickly smile on such a worm —astonished, too, that he had, on the whole, so prized the opinions of small fry and nonentities living in a rotten little town pretty well off the map ... for no respectable person in St. Petersburg had so much as heard of it. If this miserable dump should suddenly sink into the earth or bum to the ground, people in central Russia would read the news as indifferently as the advertisement for a second-hand furniture sale. To kill Von Koren tomorrow or leave him alive—it was equally pointless and tedious either way. Better shoot him in the leg or arm, wound him, then laugh at him, and let him lose himself and his dumb anguish in a crowd of similar .mediocrities, as an insect vanishes in the grass with its leg bitten off.
Layevsky went to Sheshkovsky, told him what had happened and asked him to be a second. Then both went to the local postmaster, asked him to act as second too, and stayed to lunch. Over the meal they joked and laughed a great deal. Layevsky made fun ofhimselffor being practically incapable of shooting—calling himself a crack marksman and a William Tell.
'That character must be taught a lesson,' he said.
After lunch they sat do^ to cards. Layevsky played, drank wine and thought what a stupid, senseless thing duelling was, since it didn't settle a problem, only complicated it. Still, there were times when a duel was unavoidable. On the present occasion, for instance, one could hardly take Von Koren to court. The forthcoming duel also had the advantage that he, Layevsky, would be unable to stay on in town when it was over. Slightly drunk, he became absorbed in the card game and felt fine.
After sundown and the onset of darkness, however, anxiety over- came him. It was not fear of death, for while lunching and playing cards, he had somehow been firmly convinced that the duel would come to nothing. It was feu of the unkno^—of some event new in his life which was to occur on the morrow, and a fear of the coming night.
That night would be long and sleeples», he knew, and he would fmd himself not only thinking of Von Koren and his lutred, but also about the mountain of lies over which he lud to make his way, and which he lacked the strength and skill to avoid. It was as ifhe had been suddenly taken ill. He abruptly lost ali interest in the erU and the company, fell to fidgedng and asked them to let him go home. He wanted to hurry off to bed and lie still, preparing his thoughts for the night. Sheshkovsky and the postm:l.Ster saw him home, then set off for Von Koren's to discuu the duel.
Near his quaners Uyevsky met young Achmianov, out of breath and much agitated.
'I've ^^ looking for you, Uyevsk.y,' he said. 'Ptase come quickly '
'Come where?'
'A certain gentlern.an wish« to se you. You do not know him, but he very urgent busines you. He implores you to come for ^^ute. He Ius something to di^—it'j rn.atter of life and d^th to him.'
Achmianov brought all this out excitedly, in a strong Armenian accent, somehow ^king 'life' into a word of two syUabl«.
'Who is it?' asked Uyevsk.y.
'He a.sked me not to give his rume.'
'TeU him I'm bwy. Tomorrow, ifhe '
'That is im^^ble!' A^mimov aglwt. 'He luve impo^ut thing to tell you, very impo^^t for you indeed. If you do not go disa.ster will
'This is odd,' muttered Uyevsky, not undenunding why A^^anov should be so upset, or how such ^CTets could exist in this undesirable dump of a to^.