was hatching in his mind: at the next station there would be a fork and a new line going to the right. “If I were to leave the direct line for a moment and bear to the right, then in no more than two stops I could visit yet another lady of my acquaintance, who has just returned from abroad and is now living in—agreeable for me, but rather boring for her—provincial seclusion; and thus the possibility arises of spending my time no less interestingly than in Odessa, the more so as Odessa won’t slip away either…” But he was still hesitant and had not made a final decision; he was “waiting for a push.” Meanwhile the station was approaching; the push was also not long in coming.

At this station the train stopped for forty minutes and the passengers were offered dinner. Just at the entrance to the waiting room for first- and second-class passengers there crowded, as usual, an impatient and hurrying multitude of people, and—perhaps also as usual—a scandal took place. One lady, who got out of a second-class car and was remarkably pretty, but somehow too magnificently dressed for a traveler, almost dragged with her, in both hands, an uhlan, a very young and handsome little officer, who was trying to tear free of her grip. The young officer was very tipsy, and the lady, in all probability an older relative, would not let him go, surely for fear he would rush straight to the buffet for a drink. Meanwhile, the uhlan was jostled in the crush by a little merchant, also on a spree, and even outrageously so. This merchant had been stuck at the station for two days already, drinking and squandering money, surrounded by all sorts of comradery, and kept being late for the train to continue his journey. There was a quarrel, the officer shouted, the merchant cursed, the lady was in despair and, drawing the uhlan away from the quarrel, exclaimed to him in a pleading voice: “Mitenka! Mitenka!” The little merchant found this much too scandalous; true, everyone was laughing, but the merchant was the more upset on account of what seemed to him, for some reason, an offense to morality.

“See that—’Mitenka’!…” he said reproachfully, imitating the lady’s piping little voice. “They’re no longer ashamed even in public!”

And, staggering over to the lady, who had thrown herself down on the first chair she could find and managed to sit the uhlan down beside her, he looked them both over with contempt and drew out in a singsong voice:

“Slut, slut that you are, your skirt tail’s all tattered!”

The lady shrieked and looked around pitifully, waiting for deliverance. She was ashamed, she was afraid, and to crown it all, the officer tore from his chair and, with a yell, rushed for the merchant, but slipped and flopped back into the chair. The guffawing increased around them, while no one even thought of helping; but Velchaninov did help; he suddenly seized the little merchant by the scruff of the neck and, turning him around, shoved him some five steps away from the frightened woman. With that the scandal ended; the little merchant was greatly taken aback both by the shove and by Velchaninov’s imposing figure; he was led away at once by his comrades. The dignified physiognomy of the elegantly dressed gentleman produced an imposing impression on the jeerers as well: the laughter ceased. The lady, blushing and almost in tears, began pouring out assurances of her gratitude. The uhlan muttered: “Thanksh, thanksh!”—and made as if to offer Velchaninov his hand, but instead suddenly decided to lie down across the chairs and stretch his legs out on them.

“Mitenka!” the lady moaned reproachfully, clasping her hands.

Velchaninov was pleased both with the adventure and with its setting. The lady interested him; she was, as could be seen, a rich provincial, dressed magnificently but tastelessly, and with somewhat ridiculous manners—she precisely united in herself everything that guaranteed success to a big-city fop with certain goals regarding women. A conversation started; the lady hotly told and complained about her husband, who “suddenly disappeared somewhere from the car, and that was why it all happened, because it was eternally so, when needed, he’d disappear somewhere…”

“For a necessity…” the uhlan muttered.

“Ah, Mitenka!” she again clasped her hands.

“The husband’s going to catch it!” thought Velchaninov.

“What’s his name? I’ll go and find him,” he offered.

“Pal Palych,” the uhlan responded.

“Your husband’s name is Pavel Pavlovich?” Velchaninov asked with curiosity, and suddenly the familiar bald head thrust itself between him and the lady. Instantly he pictured the Zakhlebinins’ garden, innocent games, and the importunate bald head constantly thrusting itself between him and Nadezhda Fedoseevna.

“Here you are at last!” the wife cried out hysterically.

It was Pavel Pavlovich himself; in surprise and fear he gazed at Velchaninov, struck dumb before him as before a phantom. His stupefaction was so great that for some time he apparently understood nothing of what his insulted spouse was telling him in an irritable and quick patter. Finally he gave a start and grasped all his horror at once: his own guilt, and about Mitenka, and about this “m’sieur”—for some reason the lady referred this way to Velchaninov—“being our guardian angel and a savior, and you—you are eternally elsewhere when you should be here…”

Velchaninov suddenly burst out laughing.

“But he and I are friends, friends from childhood!” he exclaimed to the astonished lady, familiarly and patronizingly putting his right arm around the shoulders of Pavel Pavlovich, who was smiling a pale smile. “Didn’t he ever tell you about Velchaninov?”

“No, never,” the wife was slightly dumbstruck.

“But do introduce me to your wife, you perfidious friend!”

“This, Lipochka, is indeed Mr. Velchaninov, this is…” Pavel Pavlovich tried to begin and shamefully broke off. The wife turned red and flashed her eyes at him in spite, obviously for the “Lipochka.”

“And imagine not telling me you were getting married, and not inviting me to the wedding, but you, Olympiada…”

“Semyonovna,” Pavel Pavlovich prompted.

“Semyonovna,” suddenly echoed the falling-asleep uhlan.

“You must forgive him, Olympiada Semyonovna, for me, for the sake of friends meeting… He’s a good husband!”

And Velchaninov amicably slapped Pavel Pavlovich on the shoulder.

“But, darling, I only stayed behind… for a moment…” Pavel Pavlovich began to justify himself.

“And abandoned your wife to disgrace!” Lipochka picked up at once. “You’re never where you ought to be, and where you oughn’t to be, there you are…”

“Where you oughtn’t to be—there where you oughtn’t to be… where you oughtn’t to be…” the uhlan kept agreeing.

Lipochka was nearly breathless with agitation; she knew it was not nice in front of Velchaninov, and she blushed, but she could not help herself.

“Where you oughtn’t to be, you’re all too cautious, all too cautious!” escaped from her.

“Under the bed… looks for lovers… under the bed—where he oughtn’t to be… oughtn’t to be…” Mitenka, too, suddenly became terribly agitated.

But there was nothing to be done with Mitenka. Everything ended pleasantly, however; full acquaintance ensued; Pavel Pavlovich was sent for coffee and bouillon. Olympiada Semyonovna explained to Velchaninov that they were now going from O., where her husband worked, to spend two months on their estate, that it was not far away, only twenty-five miles from this station, that they had a wonderful house and garden there, that they would have guests, that they also had neighbors, and that if Alexei Ivanovich was so good as to wish to visit them “in their seclusion,” she would receive him as a guardian angel, because she could not recall without horror what would have happened if… and so on and so forth—in short, “as a guardian angel…”