“Madame Savishna? Really? The good, the splendid old woman! Do you know, I had a respect for that lady that was almost filial. There was something about her decline that was so noble, so antique! In her one saw a sort of foretype of one’s own declining days—that is to say, of one’s own—well, of—well, of something poetical.” Yaroslav’s voice ended almost in a shout, and he had grown confused and red in the face.

“Yes, she was a good woman.”

“But where are you living now, might I ask?”

“Close by here—in Korschmarov’s Buildings.”

“I know them. Korschmarov is a very decent old man. I think I might even go so far as to say that I stand on a footing of intimacy with him. A health to the good old gentleman!” Yaroslav Ilyitch’s lips fairly quivered with affection. Then he sent for a second bottle of vodka and a pipe.

“You are not actually in lodgings, I suppose?” he went on. “You have your own furnished rooms?”

“No, I am in lodgings.”

“With whom, then? Perhaps I know him?”

“With Murin, a burgher—rather a fine old man.”

“Murin, Murin? He lives in a back court, does he not—just over a coffin-maker’s?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Hm! So you are quite comfortable there?”

“As yet I could hardly say. I have only just moved in.”

“Hm! Well, all I wished to say was——Hm! You have observed nothing unusual about him?”

“Good heavens! What do you mean?”

“Only that you will be all right there, so long as your room pleases you. . . . To tell the truth, I was going to say something quite different—to give you a warning—but I know your character. . . . What do you think of the old burgher?”

“He seems to suffer from bad health.”

“Yes, he does have rather bad health. But have you not noticed anything else? Have you had any talk with him?”

“Only a few words. His reserve and pride rather stand in the way.”

“Hm!” Yaroslav Ilyitch seemed to become lost in thought.

“He is a very unfortunate man,” he went on after a pause.

“Is he?”

“Yes; very unfortunate, as well as strange and interesting beyond measure. However, since he does not seem to trouble you, I must ask your pardon for having drawn your attention to the subject. Yet I wish I knew whether——”

“You have aroused my curiosity. Tell me all about him. Since I live with him, the subject very naturally interests me.”

“Well, they say that he used to be very wealthy. He was (as you too may have heard) a merchant, and came to grief through several of his boats, with their cargoes, being sunk in a storm. Also, a factory of his which was managed by a relative was burnt to the ground, and the relative perished in the flames. What a category of misfortunes! Ever since then (so they say) Murin has been a prey to melancholy. At first there were fears for his reason; and, in truth, a quarrel with another merchant who owned boats on the Volga led to such an outburst that everything which he has done since that time has been set down to insanity. Personally I believe the story, for details of more than one extraordinary act on his part have since come to my ears. Finally he suffered yet another misfortune—a calamity which could only be ascribed to the malign influence of destiny.”