"I mean Athanasiev. Surely he is a relative of yours? I know he is."
"My name is Alexiev, not Athanasiev," said the other. "And I repeat that I do not possess a single relative."
"But he is just like you—an ugly man, as well as (like yourself, again) a man of the name of Vassili Nikolaitch?"
"Nevertheless he is no kinsman of mine. Besides, my first names are Ivan and Alexeitch."
"Well, he is exactly like you, and a swine besides. You can tell him that when next you meet him."
"I neither possess his acquaintance nor have ever set eyes upon him," said Alexiev, opening his snuffbox.
"Give me a pinch," put in Tarantiev. "You use the plain stuff, and not the French, do you? Why not use the French? Never have I seen a swine like that relative of yours. On one occasion I borrowed of him fifty roubles. That was two years ago. And fifty roubles are not a very large sum, are they? They are a sum which he might well have forgotten, mightn't he? Yes, he very well might. But as a matter of fact, he
remembered it. Not a month had passed before he took to saying, whenever he met
