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He slowly came in and sat down beside me. ‘I have come to you,’ he began in a rather thick voice, ‘because you care more for me than any of the others do…. I have lost my best friend’–his voice shook a little–‘and I feel lonely…. None of you knew Gavrilov … none of you knew….’ He got up, paced up and down the room, came rapidly towards me again…. ‘Will you take his place?’ he said, and gave me his hand. I leaped up and flung myself on his breast. My genuine delight touched him…. I did not know what to say, I was choking…. Kolosov looked at me and softly laughed. We had tea. At tea he talked of Gavrilov; I heard that that timid, gentle boy had saved Kolosov’s life, and I could not but own to myself that in Gavrilov’s place I couldn’t have resisted chattering about it–boasting of my luck. It struck eight. Kolosov got up, went to the window, drummed on the panes, turned swiftly round to me, tried to say something … and sat down on a chair without a word. I took his hand. ‘Kolosov, truly, truly I deserve your confidence!’ He looked straight into my eyes. ‘Well, if so,’ he brought out at last, ‘take your cap and come along.’ ‘Where to?’ ‘Gavrilov did not ask me.’ I was silent at once. ‘Can you play at cards?’ ‘Yes.’

We went out, took a cab to one of the gates of the town. At the gate we got out. Kolosov went on in front very quickly; I followed him. We walked along the highroad. After we had gone three-quarters of a mile, Kolosov turned off. Meanwhile night had come on. On the right in the fog were the twinkling lights, the innumerable church-spires of the immense city; on the left, two white horses were grazing in a meadow skirting the forest: before us stretched fields covered with greyish mists. I followed Kolosov in silence. He stopped all at once, stretched his hand out in front of him, and said: ‘Here, this is where we are going.’ I saw a small dark house; two little windows showed a dim light in the fog. ‘In this house,’ Kolosov went on, ‘lives a man called Sidorenko, a retired lieutenant, with his sister, an old maid, and his daughter. I shall pass you off as a relation of mine–you must sit down and play at cards with him.’ I nodded without a word.

I wanted to show Kolosov that I could be as silent as Gavrilov…. But I will own I was suffering agonies of curiosity. As we went up to the steps of the house, I caught sight, at a lighted window, of the slender figure of a girl…. She seemed waiting for us and vanished at once. We went into a dark and narrow passage. A crooked, hunchback old woman came to meet us, and looked at me with astonishment. ‘Is Ivan Semyonitch at home?’ inquired Kolosov. ‘He is at home.’… ‘He is at home!’ called a deep masculine voice from within. We went into the dining-room, if dining-room one can call the long, rather dirty room; a small old piano huddled unassumingly in a corner beside the stove; a few chairs stood out along the walls which had once been yellow. In the middle of the room stood a tall, stooping man of fifty, in a greasy dressing-gown. I looked at him more attentively: a morose looking countenance, hair standing up like a brush, a low forehead, grey eyes, immense whiskers, thick lips…. ‘A nice customer!’ I thought. ‘It’s a longish time since we’ve seen you, Andrei Nikolaevitch,’ he observed, holding out his hideous red hand, ‘a longish time it is! And where’s Sevastian Sevastianovitch?’ ‘Gavrilov is dead,’ answered Kolosov mournfully. ‘Dead! you don’t say so! And who’s this?’ ‘My relation–I have the honour to present to you Nikolai Alexei….’ ‘All right, all right,’ Ivan Semyonitch cut him short, ‘delighted, delighted. And does he play cards?’ ‘Play, of course he does!’ ‘Ah, then, that’s capital; we’ll sit down directly. Hey! Matrona Semyonovna–where are you? the card-table–quick!… And tea!’ With these words Mr. Sidorenko walked into the next room. Kolosov looked at me. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you can’t think how ashamed I am!’… I shut him up. ‘Come, you there, what’s your name, this way,’ called Ivan Semyonitch. I went into the drawing-room. The drawing-room was even smaller than the dining-room. On the walls hung some monstrosities of portraits; in front of the sofa, of which the stuffing protruded in several places, stood a green table; on the sofa sat Ivan Semyonitch, already shuffling the cards. Near him on the extreme edge of a low chair sat a spare woman in a white cap and a black gown, yellow and wrinkled, with short-sighted eyes and thin cat-like lips. ‘Here,’ said Ivan Semyonitch, ‘let me introduce him; the first man’s dead; Andrei Nikolaevitch has brought us another; let’s see how he plays!’ The old lady bowed awkwardly and cleared her throat. I looked round; Kolosov was no longer in the room. ‘Stop that coughing, Matrona Semyonovna; sheep cough,’ grumbled Sidorenko. I sat down; the game began. Mr. Sidorenko got fearfully hot and furious at my slightest mistake; he pelted his sister with abusive epithets, but she had apparently had time to get used to her brother’s amenities, and only blinked in response. But when he announced to Matrona Semyonovna that she was ‘Antichrist,’ the poor old woman fired up. ‘Ivan Semyonitch,’ she protested with heat, ‘you were the death of your wife, Anfisa Karpovna, but you shan’t worry me into my grave!’ ‘Indeed?’ ‘No! you shan’t.’ ‘Indeed?’ ‘No! you shan’t.’ They kept it up in this fashion for some time. My position was, as you perceive, not merely an unenviable one: it was positively idiotic. I couldn’t conceive what had induced Kolosov to bring me…. I have never been a good card-player; but on that occasion I was aware myself that I was playing excruciatingly badly. ‘No!’ the retired lieutenant repeated continually,’ you can’t hold a candle to Sevastianovitch! No! you play carelessly!’ I, you may be sure, was inwardly wishing him at the devil. This torture continued for two hours; they beat me hollow. Before the end of the last rubber, I heard a slight sound behind my chair–I looked round and saw Kolosov; beside him stood a girl of seventeen, who was watching me with a scarcely perceptible smile. ‘Fill me my pipe, Varia,’ muttered Ivan Semyonitch. The girl promptly flew off into the other room. She was not very pretty, rather pale, rather thin; but never before or since have I seen such hair, such eyes. We finished the rubber somehow; I paid up, Sidorenko lighted his pipe and grumbled: