discussing in what year and upon what occasion there had taken place a quarrel between two Russian journalists. Waiting for a moment of silence, Iván Pávlovich communicated his bit of news, not as something joyous, nor as an unimportant event, but as though part of the conversation. But immediately, from the way the “intellectuals” (I use the word “intellectuals” as a name for the frequenters of the “intellectual” room) received the news and began to discuss it, Iván Pávlovich understood that it belonged there, and that only there would it receive such an elaboration as to enable him to carry it farther and savoir à quoi s’en tenir .
“Labázov was the only one who was wanting,” said one of the intellectuals; “now all the living Decembrists have returned to Russia.”
“He was one of the herd of the famous—” said Pákhtin, still with an inquisitive glance, prepared to make that quotation both jocular and serious.
“Indeed, Labázov was one of the most remarkable men of that time,” began an intellectual. “In 1819 he was an ensign of the Seménovski regiment, and was sent abroad with messages to Duke Z⸺. Then he returned and in the year ’24 was received in the First Masonic lodge. The Masons of that time used all to gather at the house of D⸺ and at his house. He was very rich. Prince Zh—, Fédor D⸺, Iván P⸺, those were his nearest friends. Then his uncle, Prince Visarión, to remove the young man from that society, took him to Moscow.”
“Pardon me, Nikoláy Stepánovich,” another intellectual interrupted him, “it seems to me that that happened in the year ’23, because Visarión Labázov was appointed a commander of the Third Corps in ’24, and was then in Warsaw. He had offered him an adjutantship, and after his refusal, he was removed. However, pardon me for interrupting you.”
“Not at all. Proceed!”