ows will hear of it, and
they know perfectly well it was a yarn. It's abominable! I shall
be disgraced all over Russia. . . ."

Podzharov thought a little, smoked, and to calm himself went out
into the street.

"I ought to talk to this bully, ram into his stupid noddle that he
is a blockhead and a fool, and that I am not in the least afraid
of him. . . ."

The jeune premier stopped before Zybaev's house and looked at the
windows. Lights were still burning behind the muslin curtains and
figures were moving about.

"I'll wait for him!" the actor decided.

It was dark and cold. A hateful autumn rain was drizzling as though
through a sieve. Podzharov leaned his elbow on a lamp-post and
abandoned himself to a feeling of uneasiness.

He was wet through and exhausted.

At two o'clock in the night the guests began coming out of Zybaev's
house. The landowner from Tula was the last to make his appearance.
He heaved a sigh that could be heard by the whole street and scraped
the pavement with his heavy overboots.

"Excuse me!" said the jeune premier, overtaking him. "One minute."

Klimov stopped. The actor gave a smile, hesitated, and began,
stammering: "I . . . I confess . . . I told a lie."

"No, sir, you will please confess that publicly," said Klimov, and
he turned crimson again. "I can't leave it like that. . . ."

"But you see I am apologizing! I beg you . . . don't you understand?
I beg you because you will admit a duel will make talk, and I am
in a position. . . . My fellow-actors . . . goodness knows what
they may think. . . ."

The jeune premier tried to appear unconcerned, to smile, to stand
erect, but his body would not obey him, his voice trembled, his
eyes blinked guiltily, and his head drooped. For a good while he
went on muttering something. Klimov listened to him, thought a
little, and heaved a sigh.

"Well, so be it," he said. "May God forgive you. Only don't lie in
future, young man. Nothing degrades a man like lying . . . yes,
indeed! You are a young man, you have had a good education. . . ."

The landowner from Tula, in a benignant, fatherly way, gave him a
lecture, while the jeune premier listened and smiled meekly. . . .
When it was over he smirked, bowed, and with a guilty step and a
crestfallen air set off for his hotel.

As he went to bed half an hour later he felt that he was out of
danger and was already in excellent spirits. Serene and satisfied
that the misunderstanding had ended s