man into your
warehouse!"

"University men are not suitable for our business."

"That's not true," cried Laptev. "It's a lie!"

"Excuse me, it seems to me you spit into the well from which you
drink yourself," said Fyodor, and he got up. "Our business is hateful
to you, yet you make use of the income from it."

"Aha! We've spoken our minds," said Laptev, and he laughed, looking
angrily at his brother. "Yes, if I didn't belong to your distinguished
family--if I had an ounce of will and courage, I should long ago
have flung away that income, and have gone to work for my living.
But in your warehouse you've destroyed all character in me from a
child! I'm your product."

Fyodor looked at the clock and began hurriedly saying good-bye. He
kissed Yulia's hand and went out, but instead of going into the
hall, walked into the drawing-room, then into the bedroom.

"I've forgotten how the rooms go," he said in extreme confusion.
"It's a strange house. Isn't it a strange house!"

He seemed utterly overcome as he put on his coat, and there was a
look of pain on his face. Laptev felt no more anger; he was frightened,
and at the same time felt sorry for Fyodor, and the warm, true love
for his brother, which seemed to have died down in his heart during
those three years, awoke, and he felt an intense desire to express
that love.

"Come to dinner with us to-morrow, Fyodor," he said, and stroked
him on the shoulder. "Will you come?"

"Yes, yes; but give me some water."

Laptev ran himself to the dining-room to take the first thing he
could get from the sideboard. This was a tall beer-jug. He poured
water into it and brought it to his brother. Fyodor began drinking,
but bit a piece out of the jug; they heard a crunch, and then sobs.
The water ran over his fur coat and his jacket, and Laptev, who had
never seen men cry, stood in confusion and dismay, not knowing what
to do. He looked on helplessly while Yulia and the servant took off
Fyodor's coat and helped him back again into the room, and went
with him, feeling guilty.

Yulia made Fyodor lie down on the sofa and knelt beside him.

"It's nothing," she said, trying to comfort him. "It's your
nerves. . . ."

"I'm so miserable, my dear!" he said. "I am so unhappy, unhappy
. . . but all the time I've been hiding it, I've been hiding it!"

He put his arm round her neck and whispered in her ear:

"Every night I see my sister Nina. She comes and sits in the chair
near my be