ther, that's what I
say. And what have you to say to that?"

He fixed his sharp gaze on Andrey, and waited with set teeth. His
mottled face remained immobile, and a quiver passed over his thick
lips, as if scorched by a flame.

"I have nothing to say!" said the Little Russian, meeting
Vyesovshchikov's hostile glance with a bright, warm, yet melancholy
look of his blue eyes. "I know that to argue with a man at a time when
all the wounds of his heart are bleeding, is only to insult him. I
know it, brother."

"It's impossible to argue with me; I can't," mumbled Nikolay, lowering
his eyes.

"I think," continued the Little Russian, "that each of us has gone
through that, each of us has walked with bare feet over broken glass,
each of us in his dark hour has gasped for breath as you are now."

"You have nothing to tell me!" said Vyesovshchikov slowly. "Nothing!
My heart is so--it seems to me as if wolves were howling there!"

"And I don't want to say anything to you. Only I know that you'll get
over this, perhaps not entirely, but you'll get over it!" He smiled,
and added, tapping Nikolay on the back: "Why, man, this is a
children's disease, something like measles! We all suffer from it, the
strong less, the weak more. It comes upon a man at the period when he
has found himself, but does not yet understand life, and his own place
in life. And when you do not see your place, and are unable to
appraise your own value, it seems that you are the only, the inimitable
cucumber on the face of the earth, and that no one can measure, no one
can fathom your worth, and that all are eager only to eat you up.
After a while you'll find out that the hearts in other people's breasts
are no worse than a good part of your own heart, and you'll begin to
feel better. And somewhat ashamed, too! Why should you climb up to
the belfry tower, when your bell is so small that it can't be heard in
the great peal of the holiday bells? Moreover, you'll see that in
chorus the sound of your bell will be heard, too, but by itself the old
church bells will drown it in their rumble as a fly is drowned in oil.
Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Maybe I understand," Nikolay said, nodding his head. "Only I don't
believe it."

The Little Russian broke into a laugh, jumped to his feet, and began to
run noisily up and down the room.

"I didn't believe it either. Ah, you--wagonload!"

"Why a wagonload?" Nikolay asked with a sad smile,