He imagined his wife to be not Nadya, but always, for some reason, a stout woman with a large bosom, covered with Venetian lace.
* * * * *
The clerks in the office of the Governor of the island have a drunken headache. They long for a drink. They have no money. What is to be done? One of them, a convict who is serving his time here for forgery, devises a plan. He goes to the church, where a former officer, now exiled for giving his superior a box on the ears, sings in the choir, and says to him panting: "Here! There's a pardon come for you! They have got a telegram in the office."
The late officer turns pale, trembles, and can hardly walk for excitement.
"But for such news you ought to give something for a drink," says the clerk.
"Take all I have! All!"
And he hands him some five roubles…. He arrives at the office. The officer is afraid that he may die from joy and presses his hand to his heart.
"Where is the telegram?"
"The bookkeeper has put it away." (He goes to the bookkeeper.) General laughter and an invitation to drink with them.
"How terrible!"