“Please sir, I have orders to put out the candles,” said the sleepy attendant, who had been listening to the last part of the conversation and wondering why gentlefolk always talk about one and the same thing. “To whom shall I make out the bill? To you, sir?” he added, knowing whom to address and turning to the tall man.
“To me,” replied the tall man. “How much?”
“Twenty-six rubles.”
The tall man considered for a moment, but said nothing and put the bill in his pocket.
The other two continued their talk.
“Good-bye, you are a capital fellow!” said the short plain man with the mild eyes. Tears filled the eyes of both. They stepped into the porch.
“Oh, by the by,” said the traveller, turning with a blush to the tall man, “will you settle Chevalier’s bill and write and let me know?”
“All right, all right!” said the tall man, pulling on his gloves. “How I envy you!” he added quite unexpectedly when they were out in the porch.
The traveller got into his sledge, wrapped his coat about him, and said: “Well then, come along!” He even moved a little to make room in the sledge for the man who said he envied him—his voice trembled.
“Good-bye, Mítya! I hope that with God’s help you...” said the tall one. But his wish was that the other would go away quickly, and so he could not finish the sentence.