Sanine

But the sense of jealously unsatisfied and of utter impotence still

oppressed him, and he returned home in deep dejection. Flinging himself

on his bed, he buried his face in the pillows and lay thus almost the

whole day long, bitterly conscious that he could do nothing.

"Shall we play makao?" asked Malinowsky.

"All right!" said Ivanoff.

The orderly at once opened the card-table and gaily the green cloth

beamed upon them all. Malinowsky's suggestion had roused the company,

and he now began to shuffle the cards with his short, hairy fingers.

The bright coloured cards were now scattered circle-wise on the green

table, as the chink of silver roubles was heard after each deal, while

on all sides fingers like spiders closed greedily on the coin. Only

brief, hoarse ejaculations were audible, expressing either vexation or

pleasure. Sarudine had no luck. He obstinately made a point of staking

fifteen roubles, and lost every time. His handsome face wore a look of

extreme irritation. Last month he had gambled away seven hundred

roubles, and now there was all this to add to his previous loss. His

ill-humour was contagious, for soon between Von Deitz and Malinowsky

there was an interchange of high words.

"I have staked on the side, there!" exclaimed Von Deitz irritably.

It amazed him that this drunken boor, Malinowsky, should dare to

dispute with such a clever, accomplished person as himself.

"Oh! so you say!" replied Malinowsky, rudely. "Damnation, take it! when

I win, then you tell me you've staked on the side, and when I lose ..."

"I beg your pardon," said Von Deitz, dropping his Russian accent, as he

was wont to do when angry.

"Pardon be hanged! Take back your stake! No! No! Take it back, I say!"

"But let me tell you, sir, that ..."

"Good God, gentlemen! what the devil does all this mean?" shouted

Sarudine, as he flung down his cards.

At this juncture a new comer appeared in the doorway, Sarudine was

ashamed of his own vulgar outburst, and of his noisy, drunken guests,

with their cards and bottles, for the whole scene suggested a low

tavern.

The visitor was tall and thin, and wore a loosely-fitting white suit,

and an extremely high collar. He stood on the threshold amazed,

endeavouring to recognize Sarudine.

"Hallo! Pavel Lvovitsch! What brings you here?" cried Sarudine, as,

crimson with annoyance, he advanced to greet him.

The newcomer entered in hesitating fashion, and the eyes of all were

fixed on his dazzlingly white shoes picking their way through the beer-

bottles, corks and cigarette-ends. So white and neat and scented was

he, that, in all these clouds of smoke, and amid all these flushed,

drunken fellows, he might have been likened to a lily in the marsh, had

he not looked so frail and worn-out, and if his features had not been

so puny, nor his teeth so decayed under his scanty, red moustache.