"My dear friend, don't believe them!" he whispered, laying his hand upon his heart. "It is all a delusion. My complaint lies merely in this, that in twenty years I found in this town only one intelligent man, and he was a lunatic. I suffer from no disease whatever; my misfortune is that I have fallen into a magic circle from which there is no escape. It is all the same to me—I am ready for anything."
"Then you will go into the hospital?"
"It is all the same—even into the pit."
"Give me your word, friend, that you will obey Yevgéniï Feódoritch in everything."
"I give you my word. But I repeat that I have fallen into a magic circle. Everything now, even the sincere concern of my friends, tends only to the same thing—to my destruction. I am perishing, and I have the courage to acknowledge it."
"Nonsense, you will get all right!"
"What is the use of talking like that?" said Andréi Yéfimitch irritably. "There are very few men who at the close of their lives do not experience what I am experiencing now. When people tell you that you have disease of the kidneys or a dilated heart, and set about to cure you; when they tell you that you are a madman or a criminal—in one word, when they begin to turn their attention on to you—you may recognise that you are in a magic circle from which there is no escape. You may try to escape, but that makes things worse. Give in, for no human efforts will save you. So it seems to me."
All this time, people were gathering at the grating. Andréi Yéfimitch disliked interrupting the postmaster's work, and took his leave. Mikhail Averyanitch once more made him give his word of honour, and escorted him to the door.
The same day towards evening Khobótoff, in his short fur coat and high boots, arrived unexpectedly, and, as if nothing had happened the day before, said: "I have come to you on a matter of business, colleague, I want you to come with me to a consultation. Eh?"
Thinking that Khobótoff wanted to amuse him with a walk, or give him some opportunity of earning money, Andréi Yéfimitch dressed, and went with him into the street. He was glad of the chance to redeem his rudeness of the day before, thankful for the apparent reconciliation, and grateful to Khobótoff for not hinting at the incident. From this uncultured man who would have expected such delicacy?