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Updated: May 27, 2025
"What a wind!" said the sick man, without opening his eyes, "How it whistles!" "Yes," I said. "I say, I fancy I know you. Didn't you take part in some private theatricals in General Luhatchev's villa last year?" "What of it?" he asked, quickly opening his eyes. A cloud seemed to pass over his face. "I certainly saw you there. Isn't your name Vassilyev?" "If it is, what of it?
I strained my eyes in vain, I could not recognise in the swarthy, yellow face Zina, the lively, pretty ingénue of Luhatchev's company. "Sic transit," I thought. With that I went out, not forgetting to take the revolver, and made my way to the chemist's. But I ought not to have gone away. When I came back from the chemist's, Vassilyev lay on the sofa fainting.
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