began describing very minutely the incident of the kiss, and a
moment later relapsed into silence. . . . In the course of that
moment he had told everything, and it surprised him dreadfully to
find how short a time it took him to tell it. He had imagined that
he could have been telling the story of the kiss till next morning.
Listening to him, Lobytko, who was a great liar and consequently
believed no one, looked at him sceptically and laughed. Merzlyakov
twitched his eyebrows and, without removing his eyes from the
"Vyestnik Evropi," said:

"That's an odd thing! How strange! . . . throws herself on a man's
neck, without addressing him by name. .. . She must be some sort
of hysterical neurotic."

"Yes, she must," Ryabovitch agreed.

"A similar thing once happened to me," said Lobytko, assuming a
scared expression. "I was going last year to Kovno. . . . I took a
second-class ticket. The train was crammed, and it was impossible
to sleep. I gave the guard half a rouble; he took my luggage and
led me to another compartment. . . . I lay down and covered myself
with a rug. . . . It was dark, you understand. Suddenly I felt some
one touch me on the shoulder and breathe in my face. I made a
movement with my hand and felt somebody's elbow. . . . I opened my
eyes and only imagine--a woman. Black eyes, lips red as a prime
salmon, nostrils breathing passionately--a bosom like a buffer. . . ."

"Excuse me," Merzlyakov interrupted calmly, "I understand about the
bosom, but how could you see the lips if it was dark?"

Lobytko began trying to put himself right and laughing at Merzlyakov's
unimaginativeness. It made Ryabovitch wince. He walked away from
the box, got into bed, and vowed never to confide again.

Camp life began. . . . The days flowed by, one very much like
another. All those days Ryabovitch felt, thought, and behaved as
though he were in love. Every morning when his orderly handed him
water to wash with, and he sluiced his head with cold water, he
thought there was something warm and delightful in his life.

In the evenings when his comrades began talking of love and women,
he would listen, and draw up closer; and he wore the expression of
a soldier when he hears the description of a battle in which he has
taken part. And on the evenings when the officers, out on the spree
with the setter--Lobytko--at their head, made Don Juan excursions
to the "suburb," and Ryabovitch took part in such excursions, he
always was