There was positively no one in the world Bambaev did not address by his Christian name.
'I came here three days ago.'
'Why do you ask?'
'Why indeed? But stop, stop a minute, Grisha. You are, perhaps, not aware who has just arrived here! Gubaryov himself, in person! That 's who 's here! He came yesterday from Heidelberg. You know him of course?'
'I have heard of him.'
'Is that all? Upon my word! At once, this very minute we will haul you along to him. Not know a man like that! And by the way here 's Voroshilov. . . . Stop a minute, Grisha, perhaps you don't know him either? I have the honour to present you to one another. Both learned men! He 's a phoenix indeed! Kiss each other!'
And uttering these words, Bambaev turned to a good-looking young man standing near him with a fresh and rosy, but prematurely demure face. Litvinov got up, and, it need hardly be said, did not kiss him, but exchanged a cursory bow with the phoenix, who, to judge from the severity of his demeanour, was not overpleased at this unexpected introduction.
'I said a phoenix, and I will not go back from my word,' continued Bambaev; 'go to