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"It's bad to be without love though," said Yartsev, walking behind her. "We talk and read of nothing else but love, but we do very little loving ourselves, and that's really bad." "All that's nonsense, Ivan Gavrilitch," said Yulia. "That's not what gives happiness."
"You love life, Gavrilitch?" "Yes, I love it." "Do you know, I can never understand myself about that. I'm always in a gloomy mood or else indifferent. I'm timid, without self-confidence; I have a cowardly conscience; I never can adapt myself to life, or become its master.
Some people talk nonsense or cheat, and even so enjoy life, while I consciously do good, and feel nothing but uneasiness or complete indifference. I explain all that, Gavrilitch, by my being a slave, the grandson of a serf. Before we plebeians fight our way into the true path, many of our sort will perish on the way." "That's all quite right, my dear fellow," said Yartsev, and he sighed.
With the languor of a handsome man spoilt by too much love, he fondled the children without haste, then went into the study and said, rubbing his hands: "I've not come to stay long, my friends. I'm going to Petersburg to-morrow. They've promised to transfer me to another town." He was staying at the Dresden Hotel. A friend who was often at the Laptevs' was Ivan Gavrilitch Yartsev.
'A nervous temperament,'Ratsch pronounced, rotating on his heels, and slapping himself on the haunch, 'suffers with the plexus solaris. Oh! you needn't look at me like that, Piotr Gavrilitch! I've had a go at anatomy too, ha, ha! I'm even a bit of a doctor! You ask Eleonora Karpovna... I cure all her little ailments! Oh, I'm a famous hand at that!
After the lighted rooms nothing could be seen. Yartsev and Kostya groped their way like blind men to the railway embankment and crossed it. "One can't see a thing," said Kostya in his bass voice, standing still and gazing at the sky. "And the stars, the stars, they are like new three-penny-bits. Gavrilitch!" "Ah?" Yartsev responded somewhere in the darkness. "I say, one can't see a thing.
I noticed further that the girl as she came in seemed to bring with her a breath of slight physical chillness.... 'What a statue! was my thought. 'Piotr Gavrilitch, thundered Mr. Ratsch, turning to me, 'let me introduce you to my... to my... my number one, ha, ha, ha! to Susanna Ivanovna!
Then he turned to him, bowed very low so that he touched the floor with one hand, saying, "You forgive me, too, Martinyan Gavrilitch," kissed him on the shoulder. Latkin in response smacked his lips in the air and blinked: I doubt whether he quite knew what he was doing.
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