“Listen, my good man,” Frolov said, addressing him.  “What’s the meaning of this disorder?  How queerly you fellows wait!  Don’t you know that I don’t like it?  Devil take you, I shall give up coming to you!”

“I beg you graciously to excuse it, Alexey Semyonitch!” said the engineer, laying his hand on his heart.  “I will take steps immediately, and your slightest wishes shall be carried out in the best and speediest way.”

“Well, that’ll do, you can go. . . .”

The engineer bowed, staggered back, still doubled up, and disappeared through the doorway with a final flash of the false diamonds on his shirt-front and fingers.

The table was laid again.  Almer drank red wine and ate with relish some sort of bird served with truffles, and ordered a matelote of eelpouts and a sterlet with its tail in its mouth.  Frolov only drank vodka and ate nothing but bread.  He rubbed his face with his open hands, scowled, and was evidently out of humour.  Both were silent.  There was a stillness.  Two electric lights in opaque shades flickered and hissed as though they were angry.  The gypsy girls passed the door, softly humming.

“One drinks and is none the merrier,” said Frolov.  “The more I pour into myself, the more sober I become.  Other people grow festive with vodka, but I suffer from anger, disgusting thoughts, sleeplessness.  Why is it, old man, that people don’t invent some other pleasure besides drunkenness and debauchery?  It’s really horrible!”

“You had better send for the gypsy girls.”

“Confound them!”

The head of an old gypsy woman appeared in the door from the passage.

“Alexey Semyonitch, the gypsies are asking for tea and brandy,” said the old woman.  “May we order it?”

“Yes,” answered Frolov.  “You know they get a percentage from the restaurant keeper for asking the visitors to treat them.  Nowadays you can’t even believe a man when he asks for vodka.  The people are all mean, vile, spoilt.  Take these waiters, for instance.  They have countenances like professors, and grey heads; they get two hundred roubles a month, they live in houses of their own and send their girls to the high school, but you may swear at them and give yourself airs as much as you please.  For a rouble the engineer will gulp down a whole pot of mustard and crow like a cock.  On my honour, if one of them would take offence I would make him a present of a thousand roubles.”

“What’s the matter with you?” said Almer, looking at him with surprise.  “Whence this melancholy?  You are red in the face, you look like a wild animal. . . .  What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s horrid.  There’s one thing I can’t get out of my head.  It seems as though it is nailed there and it won’t come out.”

A round little old man, buried in fat and completely bald, wearing a short reefer jacket and lilac waistcoat and carrying a guitar, walked into the room.  He made an idiotic face, drew himself up, and saluted like a soldier.