The Frenchman was asleep, or pretending to be asleep, with his head on the back of his chair, and his moist hand, as it lay on his knee, made faint movements, as though trying to catch something. Alexey Alexandrovitch got up, tried to move carefully, but stumbled against the table, went up and laid his hand in the Frenchman’s hand. Stepan Arkadyevitch got up too, and opening his eyes wide, trying to wake himself up if he were asleep, he looked first at one and then at the other. It was all real. Stepan Arkadyevitch felt that his head was getting worse and worse.

“ Que la personne qui est arrivée la dernière, celle qui demande, qu’elle sorte! Qu’elle sorte! ” articulated the Frenchman, without opening his eyes.

“ Vous m’excuserez, mais vous voyez.⁠ ⁠… Revenez vers dix heures, encore mieux demain. ”