"Listen."
"Listen, listen."
"I begin; but, gentlemen, this is a peculiar story . . . ."
"Very good, very good."
"It's a comic story."
"Very good, excellent, splendid. Get on!"
"It is an episode in the private life of your humble . . ."
"But why do you trouble yourself to announce that it's comic?"
"And even somewhat tragic!"
"Eh???!"
"In short, the story which it will afford you all pleasure to hear me now relate, gentlemen—the story, in consequence of which I have come into company so interesting and profitable . . ."
"No puns!"
"This story."
"In short the story—make haste and finish the introduction. The story, which has its value," a fair-haired young man with moustaches pronounced in a husky voice, dropping his hand into his coat pocket and, as though by chance, pulling out a purse instead of his handkerchief.
"The story, my dear sirs, after which I should like to see many of you in my place. And, finally, the story, in consequence of which I have not married."
"Married! A wife! Polzunkov tried to get married!!"
"I confess I should like to see Madame Polzunkov."
"Allow me to inquire the name of the would-be Madame Polzunkov," piped a youth, making his way up to the story-teller.
"And so for the first chapter, gentlemen. It was just six years ago, in spring, the thirty-first of March—note the date, gentlemen—on the eve . . ."
"Of the first of April!" cried a young man with ringlets.
"You are extraordinarily quick at guessing. It was evening. Twilight was gathering over the district town of N., the moon
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