"Woe!" exclaimed Augustinovich, raising his hand toward heaven; and without noticing passers-by, he fell to declaiming loudly:—
"The castle where joyousness sounded
Is shrouded in mourning to-day;
On its wall the wild weeds are growing,
At its gate the faithful dog howls."
"Thou hast no reason to visit the club," added Vasilkevich.
"What has happened?"
"Gloom is there now incubating a tempest," replied Augustinovich.
"But say what has happened."
"Misfortune."