“If I could do so I would. He really was a very re… mark… able man, wasn’t he? Do, please, say a word or two!”
Sanine looked hard at him, and replied almost angrily. “What is there to say? One fool less in the world. That’s all!”
The bitter words fell with startling clearness on the ears of those present. Such was their amazement that they were at a loss for a reply, but Dubova, in a shrill voice, cried:
“How disgraceful!”
“Why?” asked Sanine, shrugging his shoulders. Dubova sought to shout at him, threatening him with her fists, but was restrained by several girls who surrounded her. The company broke up in disorder. Vehement sounds of protest were heard on every side, and like a group of withered leaves scattered by the wind, the crowd dispersed. Schafroff at first ran on in front, but soon afterwards came back again. Riasantzeff stood with others aside, and gesticulated violently.
Lost in his thoughts, Sanine gazed at the angry face of a person wearing spectacles, and then turned round to join Ivanoff, who appeared perplexed. When referring Schafroff to Sanine he had foreseen a contretemps of some sort, but not one of so serious a nature. While it amused him, he yet felt sorry that it had occurred. Not knowing what to say, he looked away, beyond the grave-stones and crosses, to the distant fields.
A young student stood near him, engaged in heated talk. Ivanoff froze him with a glance.
“I suppose you think yourself ornamental?” he said.
The lad blushed.
“That’s not in the least funny,” he replied.