“You don’t recognize me, you have forgotten me,” began Uzelkov.  “I am your old client, Uzelkov.”

“Uzelkov, what Uzelkov?  Ah!” Shapkin remembered, recognized, and was struck all of a heap.  There followed a shower of exclamations, questions, recollections.

“This is a surprise!  This is unexpected!” cackled Shapkin.  “What can I offer you?  Do you care for champagne?  Perhaps you would like oysters?  My dear fellow, I have had so much from you in my time that I can’t offer you anything equal to the occasion. . . .”

“Please don’t put yourself out . . .” said Uzelkov.  “I have no time to spare.  I must go at once to the cemetery and examine the church; I have undertaken the restoration of it.”

“That’s capital!  We’ll have a snack and a drink and drive together.  I have capital horses.  I’ll take you there and introduce you to the church-warden; I will arrange it all. . . .  But why is it, my angel, you seem to be afraid of me and hold me at arm’s length?  Sit a little nearer!  There is no need for you to be afraid of me nowadays.  He-he! . . .  At one time, it is true, I was a cunning blade, a dog of a fellow . . . no one dared approach me; but now I am stiller than water and humbler than the grass.  I have grown old, I am a family man, I have children.  It’s time I was dead.”

The friends had lunch, had a drink, and with a pair of horses drove out of the town to the cemetery.

“Yes, those were times!” Shapkin recalled as he sat in the sledge.  “When you remember them you simply can’t believe in them.  Do you remember how you divorced your wife?  It’s nearly twenty years ago, and I dare say you have forgotten it all; but I remember it as though I’d divorced you yesterday.  Good Lord, what a lot of worry I had over it!  I was a sharp fellow, tricky and cunning, a desperate character. . . .  Sometimes I was burning to tackle some ticklish business, especially if the fee were a good one, as, for instance, in your case.  What did you pay me then?  Five or six thousand!  That was worth taking trouble for, wasn’t it?  You went off to Petersburg and left the whole thing in my hands to do the best I could, and, though Sofya Mihailovna, your wife, came only of a merchant family, she was proud and dignified.  To bribe her to take the guilt on herself was difficult, awfully difficult!  I would go to negotiate with her, and as soon as she saw me she called to her maid:  ’Masha, didn’t I tell you not to admit that scoundrel?’ Well, I tried one thing and another. . . .  I wrote her letters and contrived to meet her accidentally—­it was no use!  I had to act through a third person.  I had a lot of trouble with her for a long time, and she only gave in when you agreed to give her ten thousand. . . .  She couldn’t resist ten thousand, she couldn’t hold out. . . .  She cried, she spat in my face, but she consented, she took the guilt on herself!”

“I thought it was fifteen thousand she had from me, not ten,” said Uzelkov.