Nothing could thaw the cold of the cabinet.
From Seville to Granada Through the stillness of the night-
Gramophones droned in the pencil boxes.
Primuses hummed like bees.
Comes the sound of serenading Comes the ring of swords in fight.
In short, Ippolit Matveyevich was head over heels in love with Liza Kalachov.
Many people passed Ippolit Matveyevich in the corridor, but they all smelled of either tobacco, vodka, disinfectant, or stale soup.
In the obscurity of the corridor it was possible to distinguish people only by their smell or the heaviness of their tread.
Liza had not come by.
Ippolit Matveyevich was sure of that.
She did not smoke, drink vodka, or wear boots with iron studs.
She could not have smelled of iodine or cod's-head.
She could only exude the tender fragrance of rice pudding or tastily prepared hay, on which Mrs. Nordman-Severov fed the famous painter Repin for such a long time.
And then he heard light, uncertain footsteps.
Someone was coming down the corridor, bumping into its elastic walls and murmuring sweetly.
"Is that you, Elizabeth Petrovna? " asked Ippolit Matveyevich.
"Can you tell me where the Pfefferkorns live?" a deep voice replied.
"I can't see a damn thing in the dark!"
Ippolit Matveyevich said nothing in his alarm.
The Pfefferkorn-seeker waited for an answer but, not getting one, moved on, puzzled.
It was nine o'clock before Liza came.
They went out into the street under a caramel-green evening sky.
"Where shall we go?" asked Liza.
Ippolit Matveyevich looked at her pale, shining face and, instead of saying
"I am here, Inezilla, beneath thy window," began to talk long-windedly and tediously about the fact that he had not been in Moscow for a long time and that Paris was infinitely better than the Russian capital, which was always a large, badly planned village, whichever way you turned it.
"This isn't the Moscow I remember, Elizabeth Petrovna.
Now there's a stinginess everywhere.
In my day we spent money like water.
'We only live once.' There's a song called that."
They walked the length of Prechistenka Boulevard and came out on to the embankment by the Church of Christ the Saviour.
A line of black-brown fox tails stretched along the far side of Moskvoretsk Bridge.
The power stations were smoking like a squadron of ships.
Trams rattled across the bridge and boats moved up and down the river.
An accordion was sadly telling its tale.
Taking hold of Ippolit Matveyevich's hand, Liza told him about her troubles: the quarrel with her husband, the difficulty of living with eavesdropping neighbours, the ex-chemists, and the monotony of a vegetarian diet.
Ippolit Matveyevich listened and began thinking.
Devils were aroused in him.
He visualized a wonderful supper.
He decided he must in some way or other make an overwhelming impression on the girl.
"Let's go to the theatre," he suggested.
"The cinema would be better," said Liza, "it's cheaper."
"Why think of money?
A night like this and you worry about the cost!"
The devils in him threw prudence to the wind, set the couple in a cab, without haggling about the fare, and took them to the Ars cinema.
Ippolit Matveyevich was splendid.
He bought the most expensive seats.
They did not wait for the show to finish, however.
Liza was used to cheaper seats nearer the screen and could not see so well from the thirty-fourth row.
In his pocket Ippolit Matveyevich had half the sum obtained by the concessionaires from the Stargorod conspirators.
It was a lot of money for Vorobyaninov, so unaccustomed to luxury.