Iznurenkov was portly, but his face was thin.
Vorobyaninov had no doubt in his mind that he was about to be seized and hauled off to the police.
He was therefore very surprised when the occupant of the room, having adjusted his dress, suddenly became calmer.
"You must understand," he said in a tone of conciliation, "I cannot agree to it."
Had he been in Iznurenkov's shoes, Ippolit Matveyevich would certainly not have agreed to his chairs being stolen in broad daylight either.
But he did not know what to say, so he kept silent.
"It's not my fault.
It's the fault of the musicians' organization.
Yes, I admit I didn't pay for the hired piano for eight months. But at least I didn't sell it, although there was plenty of opportunity.
I was honest, but they behaved like crooks.
They took away the piano, and then went to court about it and had an inventory of my furniture made.
There's nothing to put on the inventory.
All this furniture constitutes work tools.
The chair is a work tool as well."
Ippolit Matveyevich was beginning to see the light.
"Put that chair down!" screeched Iznurenkov suddenly. "Do you hear, you bureaucrat?"
Ippolit Matveyevich obediently put down the chair and mumbled:
"I'm sorry, there's been a misunderstanding. It often happens in this kind of work!"
At this Iznurenkov brightened up tremendously.
He began running about the room singing:
"And in the morning she smiled again before her window."
He did not know what to do with his hands.
They flew all over the place.
He started tying his tie, then left off without finishing. He took up a newspaper, then threw it on the floor without reading anything.
"So you aren't going to take away the furniture today? . . .'
Good. . .Ah!
Ah!"
Taking advantage of this favourable turn of events, Ippolit Matveyevich moved towards the door.
"Wait!" called Iznurenkov suddenly. "Have you ever seen such a cat?
Tell me, isn't it really extraordinarily fluffy?"
Ippolit Matveyevich found the cat in his trembling hands.
"First-rate," babbled Absalom Vladimirovich, not knowing what to do with this excess of energy. "Ah!
Ah!"
He rushed to the window, clapped his hands, and began making slight but frequent bows to two girls who were watching him from a window of the house opposite.
He stamped his feet and gave sighs of longing.
"Girls from the suburbs!
The finest fruit! . . .
First-rate! . . .
Ah! . . .
'And in the morning she smiled again before her window'."
"I'm leaving now, Citizen," said Ippolit Matveyevich stupidly.
"Wait, wait!" Iznurenkov suddenly became excited. "Just one moment!
Ah!
Ah! The cat . . .
Isn't it extraordinarily fluffy?
Wait. . .
I'll be with you in a moment."
He dug into all his pockets with embarrassment, ran to the side, came back, looked out of the window, ran aside, and again returned.
"Forgive me, my dear fellow," he said to Vorobyaninov, who stood with folded arms like a soldier during all these operations.
With these words he handed the marshal a half-rouble piece.