“And you’re the only one that ever cared for me,” said Sanine as, laughing, he leapt on to the foot-board of a carriage as it rolled past.
“Off we go!” he cried. “Good-bye!”
The carriages hurried past Ivanoff as if, like Sanine, they had suddenly resolved to get away. The red light appeared in the gloom, and then seemed to become stationary. Ivanoff mournfully watched its disappearance, and then sauntered homewards through the ill-lighted streets.
“Shall I drown my sorrow?” he thought; and, as he entered the tavern, the image of his own grey, tedious life like a ghost went in with him also.
CHAPTER XLIV.
The lamps burned dimly in the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded rail way-carriage, shedding their fitful light on grimy, ragged passengers wedged tightly together, and wreathed in smoke. Sanine sat next to three peasants. As he got in, they were engaged in talk, and one half-hidden by the gloom, said:
“Things are bad, you say?”
“Couldn’t be worse,” replied Sanine’s neighbour, an old grey-haired moujik, in a high, feeble voice. “They only think of themselves; they don’t trouble about us. You may say what you like, but when it comes to fighting for your skin, the stronger always gets the best of it.”
“Then, why make a fuss?” asked Sanine, who had guessed what was the subject of their grumbling.
The old man turned to him with a questioning wave of the hand.