“But let us pass. Why are you barring our way? What do you want?” Zverkov answered disdainfully.

They were all flushed, their eyes were bright: they had been drinking heavily.

“I ask for your friendship, Zverkov; I insulted you, but⁠ ⁠…”

“Insulted? You insulted me ? Understand, sir, that you never, under any circumstances, could possibly insult me .”

“And that’s enough for you. Out of the way!” concluded Trudolyubov.

“Olympia is mine, friends, that’s agreed!” cried Zverkov.