ng home, Tchervyakov told his wife of his breach of good
manners. It struck him that his wife took too frivolous a view of
the incident; she was a little frightened, but when she learned
that Brizzhalov was in a different department, she was reassured.

"Still, you had better go and apologise," she said, "or he will
think you don't know how to behave in public."

"That's just it! I did apologise, but he took it somehow queerly
. . . he didn't say a word of sense. There wasn't time to talk
properly."

Next day Tchervyakov put on a new uniform, had his hair cut and
went to Brizzhalov's to explain; going into the general's reception
room he saw there a number of petitioners and among them the general
himself, who was beginning to interview them. After questioning
several petitioners the general raised his eyes and looked at
Tchervyakov.

"Yesterday at the _Arcadia_, if you recollect, your Excellency,"
the latter began, "I sneezed and . . . accidentally spattered . . .
Exc. . . ."

"What nonsense. . . . It's beyond anything! What can I do for you,"
said the general addressing the next petitioner.

"He won't speak," thought Tchervyakov, turning pale; "that means
that he is angry. . . . No, it can't be left like this. . . . I
will explain to him."

When the general had finished his conversation with the last of the
petitioners and was turning towards his inner apartments, Tchervyakov
took a step towards him and muttered:

"Your Excellency! If I venture to trouble your Excellency, it is
simply from a feeling I may say of regret! . . . It was not intentional
if you will graciously believe me."

The general made a lachrymose face, and waved his hand.

"Why, you are simply making fun of me, sir," he said as he closed
the door behind him.

"Where's the making fun in it?" thought Tchervyakov, "there is
nothing of the sort! He is a general, but he can't understand. If
that is how it is I am not going to apologise to that _fanfaron_
any more! The devil take him. I'll write a letter to him, but I
won't go. By Jove, I won't."

So thought Tchervyakov as he walked home; he did not write a letter
to the general, he pondered and pondered and could not make up that
letter. He had to go next day to explain in person.

"I ventured to disturb your Excellency yesterday," he muttered,
when the general lifted enquiring eyes upon him, "not to make fun
as you were pleased to say. I was apologising for having spattered
you in snee