“And not repay it. Bravo! an admirable description. To justify your last remark and prove its truth beyond doubt, lend me a hundred roubles. I will never pay them back unless you and I should have exchanged our respective situations in life.”
“Not at all. The market gardener, with whom I live, feeds me. He has no money, nor have I.”
Raisky shrugged his shoulders, felt in his pockets, produced his pocket book and laid some notes on the table.
“You have counted wrong,” said Mark. “There are only eighty here.”
“I have no more money on me. My aunt keeps my money, and I will send you the balance to-morrow.”
“Don’t forget. This is enough for the moment and now I want to sleep.”
“My bed is at your disposal, and I will sleep on the divan. You are my guest.”
“I should be worse than a Tatar if I did that,” murmured Mark, already half asleep. “Lie down on your bed. Anything will do for me.”
In a few minutes he was sleeping the sleep of a tired, satisfied and drunken man worn out with cold and weariness. Raisky went to the window, raised the curtain, and looked out into the dark, starlit night. Now and then a flame hovered over the unemptied bowl, flared up and lighted up the room for a moment. There was a gentle tap on the door.
“I, Borushka. Open quickly. What are you doing there,” said the anxious voice of Tatiana Markovna.
Raisky opened the door, and saw his aunt before him, like a white-clad ghost.
“What is going on here. I saw a light through the window, and thought you were asleep. What is burning in the bowl.”
“Do you drink punch at night?” she whispered, looking first at him, then at the bowl in amazement.
“I am a sinner, Grandmother. Sometimes I drink.”
“And who is lying there asleep?” she asked in new terror as she gazed on the sleeping Mark.
“Gently, Grandmother, don’t wake him. It is Mark.”
“Mark! Shall I send for the police! What have you to do with him? You have been drinking punch at night with Mark? What has come over you, Boris Pavlovich?”
“I found him at Leonti’s, we were both hungry. So I brought him here and we had supper.”
“Why didn’t you call me. Who served you, and what did they bring you?”
“A cold meal. Ah, Borushka, you shame me.”
“Plenty, without a single hot dish, without dessert. I will send up some preserves.”