that?"

"Since you have dined with him, tell us what kind of a man he is aside
from his fattish qualities," said the curious councilor. "So many things
are said about him. He certainly seems to be a man it is better to stand
in with than to fall out with, so I accept his invitation. How could you
manage to refuse it, anyway?"

"When he first offered me hospitality," explained the advocate, "I
didn't even know him. I never had been near him. One day a police agent
came and invited me to dinner by command--or, at least, I understood it
wasn't wise to refuse the invitation, as you said, Ivan Petrovitch. When
I went to his house I thought I was entering a fortress, and inside I
thought it must be an umbrella shop. There were umbrellas everywhere,
and goloshes. True, it was a day of pouring rain. I was struck by there
being no guard with a big revolver in the antechamber. He had a little,
timid schwitzar there, who took my umbrella, murmuring 'barine' and
bowing over and over again. He conducted me through very ordinary rooms
quite unguarded to an average sitting-room of a common kind. We dined
with Madame Gounsovski, who appeared fattish like her husband, and three
or four men whom I had never seen anywhere. One servant waited on us. My
word!

"At dessert Gounsovski took me aside and told me I was unwise to 'argue
that way.' I asked him what he meant by that. He took my hands between
his fat hands and repeated, 'No, no, it is not wise to argue like that.'
I couldn't draw anything else out of him. For that matter, I understood
him, and, you know, since that day I have cut out certain side passages
unnecessary in my general law pleadings that had been giving me a
reputation for rather too free opinions in the papers. None of that
at my age! Ah, the great Gounsovski! Over our coffee I asked him if he
didn't find the country in pretty strenuous times. He replied that he
looked forward with impatience to the month of May, when he could go for
a rest to a little property with a small garden that he had bought at
Asnieres, near Paris. When he spoke of their house in the country Madame
Gounsovski heaved a sigh of longing for those simple country joys. The
month of May brought tears to her eyes. Husband and wife looked at one
another with real tenderness. They had not the air of thinking for one
second: to-morrow or the day after, before our country happiness comes,
we may find ourselves stripped of everything. No! They were sure