said Dubkoff in a protecting sort of tone, “D’un exces d’amour propre, mon cher.”

“What do you mean by ‘exces d’amour propre’?” asked Nechludoff, highly offended. “On the contrary, I am shy just because I have TOO LITTLE amour propre. I always feel as though I were being tiresome and disagreeable, and therefore — ”

“Well, get ready, Woloda,” interrupted Dubkoff, tapping my brother on the shoulder and handing him his cloak. “Ignaz, get your master ready.”

“Therefore,” continued Nechludoff, “it often happens with me that — ”

But Dubkoff was not listening. “Tra-la-la-la,” and he hummed a popular air.