ntle, and friendly.
He must have shot himself at about midnight, though it was strange that
no one had heard the shot, and they only raised the alarm at midday,
when, after knocking in vain, they had broken in the door. The bottle of
Chateau d'Yquem was half empty, there was half a plateful of grapes left
too. The shot had been fired from a little three-chambered revolver,
straight into the heart. Very little blood had flowed. The revolver had
dropped from his hand on to the carpet. The boy himself was half lying
in a corner of the sofa. Death must have been instantaneous. There was
no trace of the anguish of death in the face; the expression was serene,
almost happy, as though there were no cares in his life. All our party
stared at him with greedy curiosity. In every misfortune of one's
neighbour there is always something cheering for an onlooker--whoever
he may be. Our ladies gazed in silence, their companions distinguished
themselves by their wit and their superb equanimity. One observed that
his was the best way out of it, and that the boy could not have hit upon
anything more sensible; another observed that he had had a good time if
only for a moment. A third suddenly blurted out the inquiry why people
had begun hanging and shooting themselves among us of late, as though
they had suddenly lost their roots, as though the ground were giving way
under every one's feet. People looked coldly at this raisonneur. Then
Lyamshin, who prided himself on playing the fool, took a bunch of grapes
from the plate; another, laughing, followed his example, and a third
stretched out his hand for the Chateau d'Yquem. But the head of police
arriving checked him, and even ordered that the room should be cleared.
As every one had seen all they wanted they went out without disputing,
though Lyamshin began pestering the police captain about something. The
general merrymaking, laughter, and playful talk were twice as lively on
the latter half of the way.

We arrived at Semyon Yakovlevitch's just at one o'clock. The gate of the
rather large house stood unfastened, and the approach to the lodge was
open. We learnt at once that Semyon Yakovlevitch was dining, but was
receiving guests. The whole crowd of us went in. The room in which the
saint dined and received visitors had three windows, and was fairly
large. It was divided into two equal parts by a wooden lattice-work
partition, which ran from wall to wall, and was three or four feet high.