tearing the meat apart with his hands, and cracking the bones noisily
with his strong, black teeth. It appeared, also, that the service had
been of no benefit to him, that he had staked all his hopes on the
revenue-farmer, who had engaged him simply with the object of having in
his counting-house "an educated man." In spite of all this, Mikhalevitch
was not dejected, and lived on as a cynic, an idealist, a poet, sincerely
rejoicing and grieving over the lot of mankind, over his own
calling,--and troubled himself very little as to how he was to keep
himself from dying with hunger. Mikhalevitch had not married, but had
been in love times without number, and wrote verses about all his
lady-loves; with especial fervour did he sing the praises of one
mysterious "panna" with black and curling locks.... Rumours were in
circulation, it is true, to the effect that the "panna" in question was a
plain Jewess, well known to many cavalry officers ... but, when you come
to think of it,--does that make any difference?

Mikhalevitch did not get on well with Lemm: his vociferous speeches, his
harsh manners, frightened the German, who was not used to such things....
An unfortunate wretch always scents another unfortunate wretch from afar,
but rarely makes up to him in old age,--and this is not in the least to
be wondered at: he has nothing to share with him,--not even hopes.

Before his departure, Mikhalevitch had another long talk with
Lavretzky, prophesied perdition to him, if he did not come to a sense of
his errors, entreated him to occupy himself seriously with the existence
of his peasants, set himself up as an example, saying, that he had been
purified in the furnace of affliction,--and immediately thereafter,
several times mentioned himself as a happy man, compared himself to the
birds of heaven, the lilies of the field....

"A black lily, at any rate,"--remarked Lavretzky.

"Eh, brother, don't put on any of your aristocratic airs,"--retorted
Mikhalevitch, good-naturedly:--"but thank God, rather, that in thy veins
flows honest, plebeian blood. But I perceive, that thou art now in need
of some pure, unearthly being, who shall wrest thee from this apathy of
thine."

"Thanks, brother,"--said Lavretzky:--"I have had enough of those
unearthly beings."

"Shut up, _cuinuik!_"--exclaimed Mikhalevitch.

"Cynic,"--Lavretzky corrected him.

"Just so, _cuinuik_,"--repeated Mikhalevitch, in no wise disconcerted.

Even as he took h