“Why, you left Mathieu, didn’t you?” asked the host.

This was the mistress who had caused Sierpukhovskoï such pain.

“No, she left me. O my friend, 263 how one remembers what one has squandered in life! Now I am glad, fact, when I get a thousand rubles; glad, fact, when I get out of everybody’s way. I cannot in Moscow. Ah! what’s to be said!”

The host was bored to listen to Sierpukhovskoï. He wanted to talk about himself⁠—to brag. But Sierpukhovskoï also wanted to talk about himself⁠—about his glittering past. The host poured out some more wine, and waited till he had finished, so as to tell him about his affairs⁠—how he was going to arrange his stud as no one ever had before; and how Marie loved him, not for his money, but for himself.

“I was going to tell you that in my stud⁠ ⁠…” he began. But Sierpukhovskoï interrupted him.