And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma’s ear:
“Come, my dear boy, for God’s sake!”
“Wait, I’ll give him a kick in the face,” begged Foma. But he was dragged off. There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart beat fast, but he felt relieved and well. At the entrance of the club he heaved a deep sigh of relief and said to Ookhtishchev, with a good-natured smile:
“I gave him a sound drubbing, didn’t I?”
“Listen!” exclaimed the gay secretary, indignantly. “You must pardon me but that was the act of a savage! The devil take it. I never witnessed such a thing before!”
“My dear man!” said Foma, friendly, “did he not deserve the drubbing? Is he not a scoundrel? How can he speak like that behind a person’s back? No! Let him go to her and tell it plainly to her alone.”
“Excuse me. The devil take you! But it wasn’t for her alone that you gave him the drubbing?”
“That is, what do you mea,—not for her alone? For whom then?” asked Foma, amazed.
“For whom? I don’t know. Evidently you had old accounts to settle! Oh Lord! That was a scene! I shall not forget it in all my life!”
“He—that man—who is he?” asked Foma, and suddenly burst out laughing. “How he roared, the fool!”