them up, the number became terribly small: all his life long he had only known 250 people, including him, the other. And these were all who were known and neighbourly to him in the world. Possibly there were people whom he had known, and forgotten; but that was just as though they did not exist.
He, the other, was very glad, when he recognized Petrov the next Easter. He had a new dress suit on, and new boots which creaked, and he said as he pressed Petrov's hand:
"But, you know, I almost died. I was seized with inflammation of the lungs, and even now there is there"—and he tapped himself on the side—"something the matter with the upper part, I believe."
"I'm sorry for you," said Petrov with sincere sympathy.
They talked about various ailments, and each spoke of his own, and when they separated they did so with a prolonged pressure of the hand, but they quite forgot to ask each other's name. The following Easter it was Petrov who did not put in an appearance at the Vasilyevskys', and he, the other, was much disquieted, and inquired of Madame Vasilyevsky who the little hunchback was who visited them.
"I know what his surname is," said she, "it is Petrov."
"But what are his Christian name and his father's?"
