So saying, he walked straight on, forcing the crowd to make way for

him.

"Don't push, please!" croaked Schafroff, feebly protesting.

"Well of all the insolent ..." cried some one, but he did not finish

his phrase.

"How is it you frighten people like that?" asked Ivanoff, as they

walked down the street. "You're a perfect terror!"

"If such young fellows with their mad ideas about liberty were always

to come bothering you," replied Sanine, "I expect that you would treat

them in a much rougher way. Let them all go to hell!"

"Cheer up, my friend!" said Ivanoff, half in jest and half in earnest.

"Do you know what we'll do? Buy some beer and drink to the memory of

Yourii Svarogitsch. Shall we?"

"If you like," replied Sanine carelessly.

"By the time we get back all the others will have gone," continued

Ivanoff, "and we'll drink at the side of the grave, giving honour to

the dead and to ourselves enjoyment."

"Very well."

When they returned, not a living soul was to be seen The tomb-stones

and crosses, erect and rigid, stood there as in mute expectation. From

a heap of dry leaves a hideous black snake suddenly darted across the

path.

"Reptile!" cried Ivanoff, shuddering.

Then, on to the grass beside the newly-made grave that smelt of humid

mould and green fir-trees they flung their empty beer-bottles.




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