While they were engrossed in their subject the dawn appeared behind the wood on the opposite side of the road, and the birds woke up, but the arguers still kept on smoking and talking, talking and smoking, and the conversation might have gone on still longer, if a maidservant had not appeared at the door.
This servant was an orphan, who had had to take service to earn her living. She had first gone into a tradesman’s house, where one of his assistants seduced her, and she had had a child. The child died, and she entered the house of an official whose son—a gymnasium student—gave her no peace; and now she was under-housemaid in Nicholas Semyónovitch’s family, and considered herself fortunate because she was not pursued by her master’s lust, and had her wages paid regularly. She came to say that her mistress wanted the doctor and Nicholas Semyónovitch.
“Oh dear! …” thought Nicholas Semyónovitch, “something must be wrong with Gógo.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nicholas Nikoláyevitch seems unwell.” Nicholas Nikoláyevitch—that was little Gógo, who had overeaten himself, and was now suffering from diarrhoea.
“And it’s high time for me to be going,” said the visitor. “Just look how light it is … how long we have been sitting here!” He smiled (as if approving of himself and his collocutors for having talked so much and so long) and took his leave.
Iván had to run about on his weary legs, searching for the visitor’s hat and umbrella, which the latter had himself left in the most unlikely places. Iván hoped to get a tip; but the visitor—always generous, and quite ready to give him a rouble—being carried away by the discussion,