It was one of those strangely beautiful evenings in late summer that
descend upon earth from the majestic azure vaults of heaven. The sun
had set, but the light was still distinct, and the air pure and clear.
There was a heavy dew, and the dust which had slowly risen formed long
gauze-like strips of cloud against the sky. The atmosphere was sultry
and yet fresh. Sounds floated hither and thither, as if borne on rapid
wings.

Sanine, hatless, and wearing his blue shirt that at the shoulders was
slightly faded, sauntered along the dusty road and turned down the
little grass-grown side-street leading to Ivanoff's lodging.

At the window, making cigarettes, sat Ivanoff, broad-shouldered and
sedate, with his long, straw-coloured hair carefully brushed back.
Humid airs floated towards him from the garden where grass and foliage
gained new lustre in the evening dew. The strong odour of tobacco was
an inducement to sneeze.

"Good evening," said Sanine, leaning on the windowsill. "Good evening."

"To-day I have been challenged to fight a duel," said Sanine.

"What fun!" replied Ivanoff carelessly. "With whom, and why?"

"With Sarudine. I turned him out of the house, and he considers himself
insulted."

"Oho! Then you'll have to meet him," said Ivanoff. "I'll be your
second, and you shall shoot his nose off."

"Why? The nose is a noble part of one's physiognomy. I am not going to
fight," rejoined Sanine, laughing.