underneath. The mouth was sensitive, the chin short and rather full, the whole aspect as of some one distinguished and out of the ordinary. 

 They stared at one another for a moment and then the hand of the older man dropped to his side.  "I beg your pardon," he said, with some show of apology in his tone, "Surely I must have made a mistake. Where have I seen you before? You are no anarchist; pray, pardon me." 

 The young man was feeling his arm ruefully: "Good gracious, sir," he said, "but you are hasty!—I never felt such a grip. The muscles are quite sore already, but luckily it is the left arm, otherwise, Bózhe moi[1], I vow I'd sue you!—If it were the fingers now, or the wrist—" 

 He took off his fur gloves and examined both hands carefully, one after the other. A scornful look came over the older man's face: 

 "There was no excuse, my friend, for the way your troïka rounded that corner. Such driving is criminal in a public street. It's a mercy we weren't all killed! Still, you really must pardon me, these anarchist devils are everywhere nowadays and one has to take precautions. I was hurrying to the Mariínski." 

 Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when there came the snapping of two watch lids almost simultaneously, and both gentlemen gave a cry of consternation. 

 "Oh, the deuce!" exclaimed the boy, "so was I, and look at the time if you please; the House will be in an uproar!" 

 The older man hurried towards the already righted sleigh: "Most unfortunate," he fumed, "and to-night of all nights! The entire concert will be at a standstill. The rug, Pierre, quick the rug! Are the horses ready? Hurry, you great lumbering son of an ox!" 

 The boy had already leaped into the troïka and was wrapping the fur robes about his knees.  "We shall put in an appearance about the same time, sir," he called back carelessly over his shoulder.  "You won't miss anything, not a note, if that will comfort you. Hey, Bobo, go ahead! The concert can't begin without me." 

 "Without you," interrupted the other, "eh, what—you? Týsyacha chertéi[2]! What do you mean?" 

 The master of the black sleigh stood up suddenly and threw back his cloak with a haughty gesture. He was in uniform and his breast glittered with orders. His cap fell back from his face, and his eyes, small and black 

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