THE SWEET-SCENTED NAME
"That's what. Splendid! I understand that!"
Moshkin strode about saying to himself:
"That's what. I understand that!"
And afterwards, as he wandered along the rich avenues or sauntered by the grand shops of the parade, passed in and out among the equipages of Petersburg lords and ladies, rubbed elbows with the rich, the fine, the perfumed, and breathed the atmosphere of all that wonderful world of luxury to which only those who have money have the entrée, he kept on repeating to himself:
"That's what. I understand that!"
He walked up to a great, fat, idle uniformed footman and cried:
"That's what! I understand that!"
The footman turned a contemptuous gaze on him, but did not move or speak. Moshkin tittered cheerfully and added:
"Fine fellows the anarchists!"
"Clear out!" cried the footman angrily.
Moshkin moved off. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him. A policeman stood near, and his white gloves caught the young man's attention. He stopped in vexation, and whispered to himself:
"A bomb would suit you very well."
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