“I ask for your friendship, Zverkov; I insulted you, but ...”

“Insulted?

YOU insulted ME? Understand, sir, that you never, under any circumstances, could possibly insult ME.”

“And that's enough for you. Out of the way!” concluded Trudolyubov.

“Olympia is mine, friends, that's agreed!” cried Zverkov.

“We won't dispute your right, we won't dispute your right,” the others answered, laughing.

I stood as though spat upon. The party went noisily out of the room. Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song. Simonov remained behind for a moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went up to him.