“Your Excellency,” observed Stepan Trofimovitch, “once when I was young I saw a characteristic incident. In the corridor of a theatre a man ran up to another and gave him a sounding smack in the face before the whole public. Perceiving at once that his victim was not the person whom he had intended to chastise but someone quite different who only slightly resembled him, he pronounced angrily, with the haste of one whose moments are precious⁠—as your Excellency did just now⁠—‘I’ve made a mistake⁠ ⁠… excuse me, it was a misunderstanding, nothing but a misunderstanding.’ And when the offended man remained resentful and cried out, he observed to him, with extreme annoyance: ‘Why, I tell you it was a misunderstanding. What are you crying out about?’ ”

“That’s⁠ ⁠… that’s very amusing, of course”⁠—Lembke gave a wry smile⁠—“but⁠ ⁠… but can’t you see how unhappy I am myself?”

He almost screamed, and seemed about to hide his face in his hands.