Ivanoff raised his eyebrows incredulously and said nothing. Yourii was silent also. For some reason or other he felt embarrassed by those clear, blue eyes, though he tried to keep looking at them.
For a few moments there was complete silence, so that one could plainly hear a night-moth desperately beating against the window-pane. Peter Ilitsch shook his head mournfully, and his drink-besotted visage drooped towards the stained, dirty newspaper. Sanine smiled again. This perpetual smile irritated and yet fascinated Yourii.
Suddenly Sanine rose, opened the window, and let out the moth. A wave of cool, pleasant air, as from soft wings, swept through the room.
“Yes,” said Ivanoff, in answer to his own thought, “there are no two men alike, so, on the strength of that, let’s have another drink.”
“No,” said Yourii, shaking his head, “I won’t have any more.”
The vodka and the heat had made his head ache. He longed to get out into the fresh air.
“No really, I ought to—” stammered Yourii, looking for his cap.
As Yourii shut the door he heard Sanine saying to Ilitsch, “Of course you’re not like children; they can’t distinguish good from bad; they are simple and natural; and that is why they—” Then the door was closed, and all was still.
High in the heavens shone the moon, and the cool night-air touched Yourii’s brow. All seemed beautiful and romantic, and as he walked through the quiet moonlit streets the thought to him was dreadful that in some dark, silent chamber Semenoff lay on a table, yellow and stiff. Yet, somehow, Yourii could not recall those grievous thoughts that had recently oppressed him, and had shrouded the whole world in gloom. His mood was now of one tranquil sadness, and he felt impelled to gaze at the moon. As he crossed a white deserted square he suddenly thought of Sanine.
“What sort of man is that?” he asked himself.
Annoyed to think that there was a man whom he, Yourii, could not instantly define, he felt a certain malicious pleasure in disparaging him.
“A phrase-maker, that’s all he is! Formerly the fellow posed as a pessimist, disgusted with life and bent upon airing impossible views of his own; now, he’s trifling with animalism.”
From Sanine Yourii’s thoughts reverted to himself. He came to the conclusion that he trifled with nothing but that his thoughts, his sufferings, his whole personality, were original, and quite different from those of other men.