he inhabitant of St. Petersburg who has no means of escaping to
the country for the summer, all contributed to irritate the young
man's already excited nerves. The reeking fumes of the dram shops, so
numerous in this part of the city, and the tipsy men to be seen at
every point, although it was no holiday, completed the repulsive
character of the scene. Our hero's refined features betrayed, for a
moment, an expression of bitter disgust. We may observe casually that
he was not destitute of personal attractions; he was above middle
height, with a slender and well-proportioned figure, and he had dark
auburn hair and fine dark eyes. In a little while he sank into a deep
reverie, or rather into a sort of mental torpor. He walked on without
noticing, or trying to notice, his surroundings. Occasionally he
muttered a few words to himself; as if, as he himself had just
perceived, this had become his habit. At this moment it dawned upon
him that his ideas were becoming confused and that he was very feeble;
he had eaten nothing worth mentioning for the last two days.

His dress was so miserable that anyone else might have scrupled to go
out in such rags during the daytime. This quarter of the city, indeed,
was not particular as to dress. In the neighborhood of the Cyennaza or
Haymarket, in those streets in the heart of St. Petersburg, occupied
by the artisan classes, no vagaries in costume call forth the least
surprise. Besides the young man's fierce disdain had reached such a
pitch, that, notwithstanding his extreme sensitiveness, he felt no
shame at exhibiting his tattered garments in the street. He would have
felt differently had he come across anyone he knew, any of the old
friends whom he usually avoided. Yet he stopped short on hearing the
attention of passers-by directed to him by the thick voice of a tipsy
man shouting: "Eh, look at the German hatter!" The exclamation came
from an individual who, for some unknown reason, was being jolted away
in a great wagon. The young man snatched off his hat and began to
examine it. It was a high-crowned hat that had been originally bought
at Zimmermann's, but had become worn and rusty, was covered with dents
and stains, slit and short of a brim, a frightful object in short. Yet
its owner, far from feeling his vanity wounded, was suffering rather
from anxiety than humiliation.

"I suspected this," muttered he, uneasily, "I foresaw it. That's the
worst of it! Some wretched trifle like t