Novikoff, when he opened the door himself to Sanine, looked far from
pleased at the prospect of such a visit. Everything that reminded him
of Lida and of his shattered dream of bliss caused him pain.

Sanine noticed this, and came into the room smiling affably. All there
was in disorder, as if scattered by a whirlwind. Scraps of paper,
straw, and rubbish of all sorts covered the floor. On the bed and the
chairs lay books, linen, surgical instruments and a portmanteau.

"Going away?" asked Sanine, in surprise. "Where?" Novikoff avoided the
other's glance and continued to overhaul the things, vexed at his own
confusion. At last he said: "Yes, I've got to leave this place. I've had my official notice."

Sanine looked at him and then at the portmanteau. After another glance
his features relaxed in a broad smile.

Novikoff was silent, oppressed by his sense of utter loneliness and his
inconsolable grief. Lost in his thoughts, he proceeded to wrap up a
pair of boots together with some glass tubes.

"If you pack like that," said Sanine, "when you arrive you'll find
yourself minus either tubes or boots."

Novikoff's tear-stained eyes flashed back a reply. They said, "Ah!
leave me alone! Surely you can see how sad I am!"

Sanine understood, and was silent.

The dreamy summer twilight-hour had come, and above the verdant garden
the sky, clear as crystal, grew paler. At last Sanine spoke.