Steltchínsky flared up, began to say that this was intimidation,[28] that he would not permit any one to meddle with his affairs, that he would not stick at anything ... and wound up by submitting, and renouncing all attempts on the life of Vladímir Sergyéitch. Véretyeff embraced him, and half an hour had not elapsed, before the two had already drunk Brüderschaft for the tenth time,—that is to say, they drank with arms interlocked.... The young man who had acted as floor-manager of the ball also drank Brüderschaft with them, and at first clung close to them, but finally fell asleep in the most innocent manner, and lay for a long time on his back in a condition of complete insensibility.... The expression of his tiny, pale face was both amusing and pitiful.... Good heavens! what would those fashionable ladies, his acquaintances, have said, if they had beheld him in that condition! But, luckily for him, he was not acquainted with a single fashionable lady.
Iván Ílitch also distinguished himself on that night. First he amazed the guests by suddenly striking up: “In the country a Baron once dwelt.”
“The hawfinch! The hawfinch has begun to sing!”—shouted all. “When has it ever happened that a hawfinch has sung by night?”
“As though I knew only one song,”—retorted Iván Ílitch, who was heated with liquor;—“I know some more, too.”
“Come, come, come, show us your art.”
Iván Ílitch maintained silence for a while, and suddenly struck up in a bass voice: “Krambambuli,[29] bequest of our fathers!” but so incoherently and strangely, that a general outburst of laughter immediately drowned his voice, and he fell silent. When all had dispersed, Véretyeff betook himself to Vladímir Sergyéitch, and the brief conversation already reported, ensued between them.
On the following day, Vladímir Sergyéitch drove off to his own Sásovo very early. He passed the whole morning in a state of excitement, came near mistaking a passing merchant for a second, and breathed freely only when his lackey brought him a letter from Steltchínsky. Vladímir Sergyéitch perused that letter several times,—it was very adroitly worded.... Steltchínsky began with the words: “La nuit porte conseil, Monsieur,”—made no excuses whatever, because, in his opinion, he had not insulted his antagonist in any way; but admitted that he had been somewhat irritated on the preceding evening, and wound up with the statement that he held himself entirely at the disposition of Mr. Astákhoff (“de M-r Astákhoff”), but no longer demanded satisfaction himself. After having composed and despatched a reply, which was filled, simultaneously with courtesy which bordered on playfulness, and a sense of dignity, in which, however, no trace of braggadocio was perceptible, Vladímir Sergyéitch sat down to dinner, rubbing his hands, ate with great satisfaction, and immediately afterward set off, without having even sent relays on in advance. The road along which he drove passed at a distance of four versts from Ipátoff’s manor.... Vladímir Sergyéitch looked at it.
“Farewell, region of dead calm!”—he said with a smile.
The images of Nadézhda Alexyéevna and Márya Pávlovna presented themselves for a moment to his imagination; he dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and sank into a doze.