So saying, he walked straight on, forcing the crowd to make way for
him.
"Don't push, please!" croaked Schafroff, feebly protesting.
"Well of all the insolent ..." cried some one, but he did not finish
his phrase.
"How is it you frighten people like that?" asked Ivanoff, as they
walked down the street. "You're a perfect terror!"
"If such young fellows with their mad ideas about liberty were always
to come bothering you," replied Sanine, "I expect that you would treat
them in a much rougher way. Let them all go to hell!"
"Cheer up, my friend!" said Ivanoff, half in jest and half in earnest.
"Do you know what we'll do? Buy some beer and drink to the memory of
Yourii Svarogitsch. Shall we?"
"If you like," replied Sanine carelessly.
"By the time we get back all the others will have gone," continued
Ivanoff, "and we'll drink at the side of the grave, giving honour to
the dead and to ourselves enjoyment."
"Very well."
When they returned, not a living soul was to be seen The tomb-stones
and crosses, erect and rigid, stood there as in mute expectation. From
a heap of dry leaves a hideous black snake suddenly darted across the
path.
"Reptile!" cried Ivanoff, shuddering.
Then, on to the grass beside the newly-made grave that smelt of humid
mould and green fir-trees they flung their empty beer-bottles.