rt, and there rose a gleam of pleasure
in his lazy eyes. He lashed the horse. . . .

All the way his imagination was picturing how surprised the Jewess
would be to see him, how he would laugh and chat, and come home
feeling refreshed. . . .

"Once a month one needs something to brighten one up . . . something
out of the common round," he thought, "something that would give
the stagnant organism a good shaking up, a reaction . . . whether
it's a drinking bout, or . . . Susanna. One can't get on without
it."

It was getting dark when he drove into the yard of the vodka
distillery. From the open windows of the owner's house came sounds
of laughter and singing:

"'Brighter than lightning, more burning than flame. . . .'"

sang a powerful, mellow, bass voice.

"Aha! she has visitors," thought Kryukov.

And he was annoyed that she had visitors.

"Shall I go back?" he thought with his hand on the bell, but he
rang all the same, and went up the familiar staircase. From the
entry he glanced into the reception hall. There were about five men
there--all landowners and officials of his acquaintance; one, a
tall, thin gentleman, was sitting at the piano, singing, and striking
the keys with his long, thin fingers. The others were listening and
grinning with enjoyment. Kryukov looked himself up and down in the
looking-glass, and was about to go into the hall, when Susanna
Moiseyevna herself darted into the entry, in high spirits and wearing
the same black dress. . . . Seeing Kryukov, she was petrified for
an instant, then she uttered a little scream and beamed with delight.

"Is it you?" she said, clutching his hand. "What a surprise!"

"Here she is!" smiled Kryukov, putting his arm round her waist.
"Well! Does the destiny of Europe still lie in the hands of the
French and the Russians?"

"I'm so glad," laughed the Jewess, cautiously removing his arm.
"Come, go into the hall; they're all friends there. . . . I'll go
and tell them to bring you some tea. Your name's Alexey, isn't it?
Well, go in, I'll come directly. . . ."

She blew him a kiss and ran out of the entry, leaving behind her
the same sickly smell of jasmine. Kryukov raised his head and walked
into the hall. He was on terms of friendly intimacy with all the
men in the room, but scarcely nodded to them; they, too, scarcely
responded, as though the places in which they met were not quite
decent, and as though they were in tacit agreement with one another
that