yitch, seeing that the poor fellow was in danger of gangrene, set to work to cut off the wounded hand; he did this in my presence, but it was done in such a gener . . . that is, in such a superb way, that I confess if it had not been for compassion for suffering humanity, it would have been a pleasure to look on, simply from curiosity. But where and how did you fall ill?"
"In moving from my lodging . . . I've only just got up."
"But you are still very unwell and you ought not to be out. So you are not living where you were before? But what induced you to move?"
"My landlady was leaving Petersburg."
"Domna Savishna? Really? . . . A thoroughly estimable, good-hearted woman! Do you know? I had almost a son's respect for her. That life, so near its end, had something of the serene dignity of our forefathers, and looking at her, one seemed to see the incarnation of our hoary-headed, stately old traditions . . . I mean of that . . . something in it so poetical!" Yaroslav Ilyitch concluded, completely overcome with shyness and blushing to his ears.
"Yes, she was a nice woman."
"But allow me to ask you where you are settled now."
"Not far from here, in Koshmarov's Buildings."
"I know him. A grand old man! I am, I may say, almost a real friend of his. A fine old veteran!"
Yaroslav Ilyitch's lips almost quivered with enthusiasm. He asked for another glass of vodka and a pipe.
"Have you taken a flat?"
"No, a furnished room in a flat."
"Who is your landlord? Perhaps I know him, too."
"Murin, an artisan; a tall old man . . ."
"Murin, Murin; yes, in the back court, over the coffin-maker's, allow me to ask?"
"Yes, yes, in the back court."
"H'm! are you comfortable there?"
"Yes; I've only just moved in."
"H'm! . . . I only meant to say, h'm! . . . have you noticed nothing special?"
"Really . . ."
"That is . . . I am sure you will be all right there if you are satisfied with your quarters. . . . I did not mean that; I am ready to warn you . . . but, knowing your character . . . How did that old artisan strike you?"
