"And for what reason?"

"I don't know. Somehow I feel uncomfortable there."

"Always the same! I can't understand a fellow feeling uncomfortable
when he is sitting with people who are fond of him. It is unnatural, mon
cher."

"But what else is there to be done si je suis tant timide? You never
blushed in your life, but I do at the least trifle," and he blushed at
that moment.

"Do you know what that nervousness of yours proceeds from?" 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.

"Oh, but I'm not going to let you off," went on Nechludoff. "I mean to