The doctor walked and drank and ate and inspected, but his feelings
remained unchanged; he was vexed with Mikhail Averyanitch. He longed to
get a rest from his companion, to escape from him, but the postmaster
considered it his duty not to let him out of his sight, and to see
that he tasted every possible form of recreation. For two days Andréi
Yéfimitch endured it, but on the third declared that he was unwell,
and would remain all day at home. Mikhail Averyanitch said that in
that case he also would remain at home. And indeed, he added, a rest
was necessary, otherwise they would have no strength left. Andréi
Yéfimitch lay on the sofa with his face to the wall, and with clenched
teeth listened to his friend, who assured him that France would sooner
or later inevitably destroy Germany, that in Moscow there are a great
many swindlers, and that you cannot judge of the merits of a horse by
its appearance. The doctor's heart throbbed, his ears hummed, but from
motives of delicacy he could not ask his friend to leave him alone or
be silent. But happily Mikhail Averyanitch grew tired of sitting in the
room, and after dinner went for a walk.
Left alone, Andréi Yéfimitch surrendered himself to the feeling of
rest. How delightful it was to lie motionless on the sofa and know
that he was alone in the room! Without solitude true happiness was
impossible. The fallen angel was faithless to God probably only because
he longed for solitude, which angels knew not. Andréi Yéfimitch wished
to reflect upon what he had seen and heard in the last few days. But he
could not drive Mikhail Averyanitch out of his mind.
"But then he obtained leave and came with me purely out of friendship
and generosity," he thought with vexation. "Yet there is nothing more
detestable than his maternal care. He is good and generous and a gay
companion--but tiresome! Intolerably tiresome! He is one of those men
who say only clever things, yet you cannot help feeling that they are
stupid at bottom."
Next day Andréi Yéfimitch said he was still ill, and remained in his
loom. He lay with his face to the back of the sofa, was bored when he
was listening to conversation, and happy only when he was left alone.
He was angry with himself for leaving home, he was angry with Mikhail
Averyanitch, who every day became more garrulous and free-making; to
concentrate his thoughts on a serious, elevated plane he failed utterly.
"I am now being tested by the realities of which Iván Dmítritch spoke,"
he thought, angered at his own pettiness. "But this is nothing.... I
will go home, and things will be as before."
In St. Petersburg the incidents of Moscow were repeated; whole days he
never left his room, but lay on the sofa, and rose only when he wanted
to drink beer.
All the time, Mikhail Averyanitch was in a great hurry to get to Warsaw.
"My dear friend, why must I go there?" asked Andréi Yéfimitch
imploringly. "Go yourself, and let me go home. I beg you!"
"Not for a million!" protested Mikhail Averyanitch. "It is an
astonishing city! In Warsaw I spent the happiest days of my life."
Andréi Yéfimitch had not the character to persist, and with a twinge
of pain accompanied his friend to Warsaw. When he got there he stayed
all day in the hotel, lay on the sofa, and was angry with himself, and
with the waiters who stubbornly refused to understand Russian. Mikhail
Averyanitch, healthy, gay, and active as ever, drove from morning to
night about the city and sought out his old acquaintances. Several
nights he stayed out altogether. After one of these nights, spent it
is uncertain where, he returned early in the morning, dishevelled and
excited. For a long time he walked up and down the room, and at last
stopped and exclaimed:
"Honour before everything!"
Again he walked up and down the room, seized his head in his hands, and
declaimed tragically:
"Yes! Honour before everything! Cursed be the hour when it entered my
head to come near this Babylon!... My dear friend," he turned to Andréi
Yéfimitch, "I have lost heavily at cards. Lend me five hundred roubles!"
Andréi Yéfimitch counted the money, and gave it silently to his
friend. Mikhail Averyanitch, purple from shame and indignation, cursed
incoherently and needlessly, put on his cap, and went out. After two
hours' absence he returned, threw himself into an armchair, sighed
loudly, and said:
"Honour is saved! Let us go away, my friend! Not another minute will I
rest in this accursed city! They are all scoundrels!... Austrian spies!"
When the travellers returned it was the beginning of November, and
the streets were covered with snow. Doctor Khobótoff occupied Andréi
Yéfimitch's position at the hospital, but lived at his own rooms,
waiting until Andréi Yéfimitch returned and gave up the official
quarters. The ugly woman whom he called his cook already lived in one
of the wings.
Fresh scandals in connection with the hospital were being circulated
in the town. It was said that the ugly woman had quarrelled with the
superintendent, who had gone down before her on his knees and begged
forgiveness. On the day of his return Andréi Yéfimitch had to look for
new lodgings.
"My friend," began the postmaster timidly, "forgive the indelicate
question, what money have you got?"
Andréi Yéfimitch silently counted his money, and said:
"Eighty-six roubles."
"You don't understand me," said Mikhail Averyanitch in confusion. "I
ask what means have you--generally?"
"I have told you already--eighty-six roubles.... Beyond that I have
nothing."
Mikhail Averyanitch was well aware that the doctor was an honest and
straightforward man. But he believed that he had at least twenty
thousand roubles in capital. Now learning that his friend was a beggar
and had nothing to live on, he began to cry, and embraced him.