When the brigade reached their halting-place in the evening, and the officers were resting in their tents, Ryabovitch, Merzlyakov, and Lobytko were sitting round a box having supper. Merzlyakov ate without haste, and, as he munched deliberately, read the Vyestnik Evropi , which he held on his knees. Lobytko talked incessantly and kept filling up his glass with beer, and Ryabovitch, whose head was confused from dreaming all day long, drank and said nothing. After three glasses he got a little drunk, felt weak, and had an irresistible desire to impart his new sensations to his comrades.

“A strange thing happened to me at those Von Rabbeks’,” he began, trying to put an indifferent and ironical tone into his voice. “You know I went into the billiard room.⁠ ⁠…”

He began describing very minutely the incident of the kiss, and a moment later relapsed into silence.⁠ ⁠… In the course of that moment he had told everything, and it surprised him dreadfully to find how short a time it took him to tell it. He had imagined that he could have been telling the story of the kiss till next morning. Listening to him, Lobytko, who was a great liar and consequently believed no one, looked at him sceptically and laughed. Merzlyakov twitched his eyebrows and, without removing his eyes from the Vyestnik Evropi , said:

“That’s an odd thing! How strange!⁠ ⁠… throws herself on a man’s neck, without addressing him by name.⁠ ⁠… She must be some sort of hysterical neurotic.”

“Yes, she must,” Ryabovitch agreed.