nushka's."

What could you expect? I finished my day as foolishly as I had begun it.
We supped with this Arinushka. Zourine always filled up my glass,
repeating that I must get accustomed to the service.

Upon leaving the table I could scarcely stand. At midnight Zourine took
me back to the inn.

Saveliitch came to meet us at the door.

"What has befallen you?" he said to me in a melancholy voice, when he
saw the undoubted signs of my zeal for the service. "Where did you thus
swill yourself? Oh! good heavens! such a misfortune never happened
before."

"Hold your tongue, old owl," I replied, stammering; "I am sure you are
drunk. Go to bed, ... but first help me to bed."

The next day I awoke with a bad headache. I only remembered confusedly
the occurrences of the past evening. My meditations were broken by
Saveliitch, who came into my room with a cup of tea.

"You begin early making free, Petr' Andrejitch," he said to me, shaking
his head. "Well, where do you get it from? It seems to me that neither
your father nor your grandfather were drunkards. We needn't talk of
your mother; she has never touched a drop of anything since she was
born, except '_kvass_.'[14] So whose fault is it? Whose but the
confounded '_moussie_;' he taught you fine things, that son of a dog,
and well worth the trouble of taking a Pagan for your servant, as if our
master had not had enough servants of his own!"

I was ashamed. I turned round and said to him--

"Go away, Saveliitch; I don't want any tea."

But it was impossible to quiet Saveliitch when once he had begun to
sermonize.

"Do you see now, Petr' Andrejitch," said he, "what it is to commit
follies? You have a headache; you won't take anything. A man who gets
drunk is good for nothing. Do take a little pickled cucumber with honey
or half a glass of brandy to sober you. What do you think?"

At this moment a little boy came in, who brought me a note from Zourine.
I unfolded it and read as follows:--

"DEAR PETR' ANDREJITCH,

"Oblige me by sending by bearer the hundred roubles you lost to me
yesterday. I want money dreadfully.

"Your devoted

"IVAN ZOURINE."

There was nothing for it. I assumed a look of indifference, and,
addressing myself to Saveliitch, I bid him hand over a hundred roubles
to the little boy.

"What--why?" he asked me in great surprise.

"I owe them to him," I answered as coldly as possible.

"You owe them to him!" retorted Saveliitch, whose surpri