ose who are much better than myself, those
who are much worse, and those between whom and myself there is a mutual
determination not to mention some particular thing of which we are both
aware. Dubkoff may have been a much better fellow than myself, or he may
have been a much worse; but the point was that he lied very frequently
without recognising the fact that I was aware of his doing so, yet had
determined not to mention it.

"Let us play another round," said Woloda, hunching one shoulder after
the manner of Papa, and reshuffling the cards.

"How persistent you are!" said Dubkoff. "We can play all we want to
afterwards. Well, one more round, then."

During the play, I looked at their hands. Woloda's hands were large and
red, whilst in the crook of the thumb and the way in which the other
fingers curved themselves round the cards as he held them they so
exactly resembled Papa's that now and then I could not help thinking
that Woloda purposely held the cards thus so as to look the more like a
grownup. Yet the next moment, looking at his face, I could see that he
had not a thought in his mind beyond the game. Dubkoff's hands, on the
contrary, were small, puffy, and inclined to clench themselves, as well
as extremely neat and small-fingered. They were just the kind of hands
which generally display rings, and which are most to be seen on persons
who are both inclined to use them and fond of objets de vertu.

Woloda must have lost, for the gentleman who was watching the play
remarked that Vladimir Petrovitch had terribly bad luck, while Dubkoff
reached for a note book, wrote something in it, and then, showing Woloda
what he had written, said:

"Is that right?"

"Yes." said Woloda, glancing with feigned carelessness at the note book.
"Now let us go."

Woloda took Dubkoff, and I gave Dimitri a lift in my drozhki.

"What were they playing at?" I inquired of Dimitri.

"At piquet. It is a stupid game. In fact, all such games are stupid."

"And were they playing for much?"

"No, not very much, but more than they ought to."

"Do you ever play yourself?"

"No; I swore never to do so; but Dubkoff will play with any one he can
get hold of."

"He ought not to do that," I remarked. "So Woloda does not play so well
as he does?"

"Perhaps Dubkoff ought not to, as you say, yet there is nothing
especially bad about it all. He likes playing, and plays well, but he is
a good fellow all the same."

"I had no idea of this