"We must give this gentleman a lesson . . ." he said.

After dinner they sat down to cards. Laevsky played, drank wine,
and thought that duelling was stupid and senseless, as it did not
decide the question but only complicated it, but that it was sometimes
impossible to get on without it. In the given case, for instance,
one could not, of course, bring an action against Von Koren. And
this duel was so far good in that it made it impossible for Laevsky
to remain in the town afterwards. He got a little drunk and interested
in the game, and felt at ease.

But when the sun had set and it grew dark, he was possessed by a
feeling of uneasiness. It was not fear at the thought of death,
because while he was dining and playing cards, he had for some
reason a confident belief that the duel would end in nothing; it
was dread at the thought of something unknown which was to happen
next morning for the first time in his life, and dread of the coming
night. . . . He knew that the night would be long and sleepless,
and that he would have to think not only of Von Koren and his hatred,
but also of the mountain of lies which he had to get through, and
which he had not strength or ability to dispense with. It was as
though he had been taken suddenly ill; all at once he lost all
interest in the cards and in people, grew restless, and began asking
them to let him go home. He was eager to get into bed, to lie without
moving, and to prepare his thoughts for the night. Sheshkovsky and
the postal superintendent saw him home and went on to Von Koren's
to arrange about the duel.

Near his lodgings Laevsky met Atchmianov. The young man was breathless
and excited.

"I am looking for you, Ivan Andreitch," he said. "I beg you to come
quickly. . . ."

"Where?"

"Some one wants to see you, some one you don't know, about very
important business; he earnestly begs you to come for a minute. He
wants to speak to you of something. . . . For him it's a question
of life and death. . . ." In his excitement Atchmianov spoke in a
strong Armenian accent.

"Who is it?" asked Laevsky.

"He asked me not to tell you his name."

"Tell him I'm busy; to-morrow, if he likes. . . ."

"How can you!" Atchmianov was aghast. "He wants to tell you something
very important for you . . . very important! If you don't come,
something dreadful will happen."

"Strange . . ." muttered Laevsky, unable to understand why Atchmianov
was so excited and what mysteries the