FROM PILLAR TO POST
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Gramophones were screeching in the various pencil boxes. The numerous ‘ Primus ’ stoves were hissing. Hippolyte had fallen head over heels in love with Liza Kalachev. A number of people smelling of tobacco or cabbage soup groped their way past Hippolyte, but they could only be distinguished by the way they walked. Liza had not passed him. He was certain of that, because she neither smoked nor drank vodka, and she did not wear hobnailed boots. At last he heard light, uncertain steps. Some one was coming towards him down the corridor. ‘ Is that you, Elizaveta Petrovna ? ’ asked Hippolyte in an excited whisper. ‘ Can you tell me whether the Peppercorns live here ? I can’t see anything in this darkness.’ Hippolyte did not answer. The visitor was sur prised not to receive any reply and passed him. It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Liza joined him, and they went out into the street. ' Well, where are we going to ? ’ said Liza. Hippolyte looked at her face, and instead of immediately declaring his love he began a long and boring tirade about Moscow, which he had not visited for some time, and about Paris which was a far more beautiful city. ‘ I remember Moscow when it was quite different from what it is now. You know we never spared money in those days. It reminds me of a song, “You only live once ’’.’ They walked through the streets and Liza took his arm. She confided all her worries to him ; about the quarrel with her husband, the difficult life they led in the hostel, and about the monotonous vegetarian food. As he listened to her talk he began to dream of a wonderful supper. At last, he came to the conclusion that such a young woman should be entertained in some way.
