Koren, who was glad to change the
conversation.

"Of course! If he hadn't been a good man, do you suppose he would
have been consecrated a bishop?"

"Among the bishops are to be found good and gifted men," said Von
Koren. "The only drawback is that some of them have the weakness
to imagine themselves statesmen. One busies himself with Russification,
another criticises the sciences. That's not their business. They
had much better look into their consistory a little."

"A layman cannot judge of bishops."

"Why so, deacon? A bishop is a man just the same as you or I."

"The same, but not the same." The deacon was offended and took up
his pen. "If you had been the same, the Divine Grace would have
rested upon you, and you would have been bishop yourself; and since
you are not bishop, it follows you are not the same."

"Don't talk nonsense, deacon," said Samoylenko dejectedly. "Listen
to what I suggest," he said, turning to Von Koren. "Don't give me
that hundred roubles. You'll be having your dinners with me for
three months before the winter, so let me have the money beforehand
for three months."

"I won't."

Samoylenko blinked and turned crimson; he mechanically drew towards
him the book with the spider on it and looked at it, then he got
up and took his hat.

Von Koren felt sorry for him.

"What it is to have to live and do with people like this," said the
zoologist, and he kicked a paper into the corner with indignation.
"You must understand that this is not kindness, it is not love, but
cowardice, slackness, poison! What's gained by reason is lost by
your flabby good-for-nothing hearts! When I was ill with typhoid
as a schoolboy, my aunt in her sympathy gave me pickled mushrooms
to eat, and I very nearly died. You, and my aunt too, must understand
that love for man is not to be found in the heart or the stomach
or the bowels, but here!"

Von Koren slapped himself on the forehead.

"Take it," he said, and thrust a hundred-rouble note into his hand.

"You've no need to be angry, Kolya," said Samoylenko mildly, folding
up the note. "I quite understand you, but . . . you must put yourself
in my place."

"You are an old woman, that's what you are."

The deacon burst out laughing.

"Hear my last request, Alexandr Daviditch," said Von Koren hotly.
"When you give that scoundrel the money, make it a condition that
he takes his lady with him, or sends her on ahead, and don't give
it him without. There's no