Notes From The Underground 43

‘And where were we to find you?’ Ferfitchkin put in roughly.

‘You never were on good terms with Zverkov,’ Trudoly-ubov added, frowning.

But I had already clutched at the idea and would not give it up.

‘It seems to me that no one has a right to form an opinion upon that,’ I retorted in a shaking voice, as though some-thing tremendous had happened. ‘Perhaps that is just my reason for wishing it now, that I have not always been on good terms with him.’

‘Oh, there’s no making you out ... with these refinements,’ Trudolyubov jeered.

‘We’ll put your name down,’ Simonov decided, address-ing me. ‘Tomorrow at five-o’clock at the Hotel de Paris.’

‘What about the money?’ Ferfitchkin began in an under-tone, indicating me to Simonov, but he broke off, for even Simonov was embarrassed.

‘That will do,’ said Trudolyubov, getting up. ‘If he wants to come so much, let him.’

‘But it’s a private thing, between us friends,’ Ferfitchkin said crossly, as he, too, picked up his hat. ‘It’s not an official gathering.’

‘We do not want at all, perhaps ...’

They went away. Ferfitchkin did not greet me in any way as he went out, Trudolyubov barely nodded. Simonov, with whom I was left TETE-A-TETE, was in a state of vexation and perplexity, and looked at me queerly. He did not sit down and did not ask me to.

‘H’m ... yes ... tomorrow, then. Will you pay your sub-scription now? I just ask so as to know,’ he muttered in embarrassment.

I flushed crimson, as I did so I remembered that I had owed Simonov fifteen roubles for ages—which I had, in-deed, never forgotten, though I had not paid it.

‘You will understand, Simonov, that I could have no idea when I came here .... I am very much vexed that I have for-

gotten ....’

‘All right, all right, that doesn’t matter. You can pay to-morrow after the dinner. I simply wanted to know .... Please don’t ...’

He broke off and began pacing the room still more vexed.

As he walked he began to stamp with his heels.

‘Am I keeping you?’ I asked, after two minutes of silence. ‘Oh!’ he said, starting, ‘that is—to be truthful—yes. I have to go and see someone ... not far from here,’ he added

in an apologetic voice, somewhat abashed.

‘My goodness, why didn’t you say so?’ I cried, seizing my cap, with an astonishingly free-and-easy air, which was the last thing I should have expected of myself.

‘It’s close by ... not two paces away,’ Simonov repeated, ac-companying me to the front door with a fussy air which did not suit him at all. ‘So five o’clock, punctually, tomorrow,’ he called down the stairs after me. He was very glad to get rid of me. I was in a fury.

to be contd..