The old man, who was sitting on the floor, did not rise.
“Is that the way one says ‘Good-bye’? Fool, fool!” he began. “Oh dear, what has come to people? We’ve kept company, kept company for well-nigh a year, and now ‘Good-bye!’ and off he goes! Why, I love you, and how I pity you! You are so forlorn, always alone, always alone. You’re somehow so unsociable. At times I can’t sleep for thinking about you. I am so sorry for you. As the song has it:
It is very hard, dear brother,
In a foreign land to live.
So it is with you.”
“Well, good-bye,” said Olénin again.
The old man rose and held out his hand. Olénin pressed it and turned to go.
“Give us your mug, your mug!”
And the old man took Olénin by the head with both hands and kissed him three times with wet moustaches and lips, and began to cry.
“I love you, good-bye!”
Olénin got into the cart.