“Drinking?”

And the other said in a jealous aside:

“See, what devils!”

Then a hand stretched over the Deacon’s head and took away the bottle, and the characteristic ripple of vodka being poured into a glass was heard. Then came a grunt.

“Oh, this is too glum!” shouted the Deacon. “Taras, let us remember ancient times and sing ‘By the Rivers of Babylon.’ ”

“But can he sing?” asked Simtsoff.

“He? He was a soloist in the Bishop’s choir. Now then, Taras!…‘By the r-i-v-e-r-s’…” The Deacon’s voice was loud and hoarse and cracked, and his friend sang in a shrill falsetto.

The grimy building loomed large in the darkness and seemed to be pressing with all its rotten timber nearer to the singers, who were arousing its dull echoes with their wild shrieks. Heavy, sumptuous clouds were slowly floating in the sky over their heads. One of the “creatures that once were men” was snoring; the rest, not yet drunk enough, ate and drank silently or spoke to each other at long intervals in a whisper.

It was unusual for them to be in such low spirits during such a feast, with so much vodka. Somehow the drink tonight did not seem to have its usual exhilarating effect.

“Stop howling! you dogs!” said the Captain to the singers, raising his head from the ground to listen. “Someone is passing…in a droshky…”

A droshky in the street at such a late hour could not but attract general attention. Who would risk crossing the gullies and pits on the way from the town, and what for? They all raised their heads and listened. In the silence of the night the sound of the wheels touching the hard ground was heard distinctly. It gradually came nearer. A voice was heard asking brusquely:

“Well, where is it?”

Someone answered, “It must be that house over there.”

“I shall not go any further.”

“They are coming here!” shouted the Captain.

“The police!” someone whispered in great alarm.

“In a droshky! You fool!” said Martyanoff, softly.

Kuvalda got up and went to the entrance.

“Is this a doss-house?” asked someone, in a shaky voice.

“Yes,” grunted the Captain, ungraciously.

“Oh! Did a reporter, one Titoff, live here?”

“Aha! Have you brought him?”

“Yes…”