it
will set off."

As they passed the little house with three windows, into which
Laevsky had moved soon after the duel, Von Koren could not resist
peeping in at the window. Laevsky was sitting, writing, bent over
the table, with his back to the window.

"I wonder at him!" said the zoologist softly. "What a screw he has
put on himself!"

"Yes, one may well wonder," said Samoylenko. "He sits from morning
till night, he's always at work. He works to pay off his debts. And
he lives, brother, worse than a beggar!"

Half a minute of silence followed. The zoologist, the doctor, and
the deacon stood at the window and went on looking at Laevsky.

"So he didn't get away from here, poor fellow," said Samoylenko.
"Do you remember how hard he tried?"

"Yes, he has put a screw on himself," Von Koren repeated. "His
marriage, the way he works all day long for his daily bread, a new
expression in his face, and even in his walk--it's all so
extraordinary that I don't know what to call it."

The zoologist took Samoylenko's sleeve and went on with emotion in
his voice:

"You tell him and his wife that when I went away I was full of
admiration for them and wished them all happiness . . . and I beg
him, if he can, not to remember evil against me. He knows me. He
knows that if I could have foreseen this change, then I might have
become his best friend."

"Go in and say good-bye to him."

"No, that wouldn't do."

"Why? God knows, perhaps you'll never see him again."

The zoologist reflected, and said:

"That's true."

Samoylenko tapped softly at the window. Laevsky started and looked
round.

"Vanya, Nikolay Vassilitch wants to say goodbye to you," said
Samoylenko. "He is just going away."

Laevsky got up from the table, and went into the passage to open
the door. Samoylenko, the zoologist, and the deacon went into the
house.

"I can only come for one minute," began the zoologist, taking off
his goloshes in the passage, and already wishing he had not given
way to his feelings and come in, uninvited. "It is as though I were
forcing myself on him," he thought, "and that's stupid."

"Forgive me for disturbing you," he said as he went into the room
with Laevsky, "but I'm just going away, and I had an impulse to see
you. God knows whether we shall ever meet again."

"I am very glad to see you. . . . Please come in," said Laevsky,
and he awkwardly set chairs for his visitors as though he wanted
to bar their way, and sto