Ivanoff nodded.

"A good thing, too. Duelling is quite unnecessary."

"My sister Lida doesn't think so," said Sanine.

"Because she's a goose," replied Ivanoff. "What a lot of tomfoolery
people choose to believe, don't they?"

So saying, he finished making the last cigarette, which he lighted,
putting the others in his leather cigarette-case.

Then he blew away the tobacco left on the window-sill, and, vaulting
over it, joined Sanine.

"What shall we do this evening?" he asked.

"Let us go and see Soloveitchik," suggested Sanine.

"Oh! no!"

"Why not?"

"I don't like him. He is such a worm."

Sanine shrugged his shoulders.

"Not worse than others. Come along."

"All right," said Ivanoff, who always agreed to anything that Sanine
proposed. So they both went along the street together.

Soloveitchik, however, was not at home. The door was shut, and the
courtyard dreary and deserted. Only Sultan rattled his chain and barked
at these strangers who had invaded his yard. "What a ghastly place!"
exclaimed Ivanoff. "Let us go to the boulevard."

They turned back, shutting the gate after them. Sultan barked two or
three times and then sat in front of his kennel, sadly gazing at the
desolate yard, the silent mill and the little white footpaths across
the dusty turf.

In the public garden the band was playing, as usual, and there was a
pleasant breeze on the boulevard, where promenaders abounded. Lit up by
bright feminine toilettes, the dark throng moved now in the direction
of the shady gardens, and now towards the main entrance of massive
stone.