sake, come to my rescue, whether you want to or not. I must get away from here, come what may! … Lend me the money!”

“Oh, my God, my God! … sighed Samoylenko, scratching himself. “I was dropping asleep and I hear the whistle of the steamer, and now you … Do you want much?”

“Three hundred roubles at least. I must leave her a hundred, and I need two hundred for the journey. … I owe you about four hundred already, but I will send it you all … all. …”

Samoylenko took hold of both his whiskers in one hand, and standing with his legs wide apart, pondered.

“Yes …” he muttered, musing. “Three hundred.… Yes. … But I haven’t got so much. I shall have to borrow it from some one.”

“Borrow it, for God’s sake!” said Laevsky, seeing from Samoylenka’s face that he wanted to lend him the money and certainly would lend it. “Borrow it, and I’ll be sure to pay you back. I will send it from Petersburg as soon as I get there. You can set your mind at rest about that. I’ll tell you what, Sasha,” he said, growing more animated; “let us have some wine.”

“Yes … we can have some wine, too.”

They both went into the dining-room.

“And how about Nadyezhda Fyodorovna?” asked Samoylenko, setting three bottles and a plate of peaches on the table. “Surely she’s not remaining?”

“I will arrange it all, I will arrange it all,” said Laevsky, feeling an unexpected rush of joy. “I will send her the money afterwards and she will join me.… Then we will define our relations. To your health, friend.”

“Wait a bit,” said Samoylenko. “Drink this first. … This is from my vineyard. This bottle is from Navaridze’s vineyard and this one is from Ahatulov’s.… Try all three kinds and tell me candidly. … There seems a little acidity about mine. Eh? Don’t you taste it?”

“Yes. You have comforted me, Alexandr Daviditch. Thank you. … I feel better.”

“Is there any acidity?”

“Goodness only knows, I don’t know. But you are a splendid, wonderful man!”

Looking at his pale, excited, good-natured face, Samoylenko remembered Von Koren’s view that men like that ought to be destroyed, and Laevsky seemed to him a weak, defenceless child, whom any one could injure and destroy.

“And when you go, make it up with your mother,” he said. “It’s not right.”

“Yes, yes; I certainly shall.”

They were silent for a while. When they had emptied the first bottle, Samoylenko said:

“You ought to make it up with Von Koren too. You are both such splendid, clever fellows, and you glare at each other like wolves.”

“Yes, he’s a fine, very intelligent fellow,” Laevsky assented, ready now to praise and forgive every one. “He’s a remarkable man, but it’s impossible for me to get on with him. No! Our natures are too different. I’m an indolent, weak, submissive nature. Perhaps in a good minute I might hold out my hand to him, but he would turn away from me … with contempt.”