Free The Duel by ANTON CHEKHOV

appeared all in white and in a white nightcap.
    “What do you want?” he asked, scratching himself and breathing heavily, having just awoken. “Wait a second, I’ll unlock the front door.”
    “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll go through the window …”
    Laevsky climbed through the window and, walking up to Samoylenko, grabbed him by the hand.
    “Alexander Davidich,” he said, his voice shaking, “rescue me! I beg of you, implore you, to understand me! My predicament is torturous. If it continues for even another day or two, then I shall strangle myself, like … like you would a dog!”
    “Hold it … What, exactly, have you come here for?”
    “Light a candle.”
    “Oh, my …” Samoylenko exhaled, lighting a candle. “My God, my God, we’re already in the second hour, brother.”
    “Pardon me, I can’t just sit at home,” Laevsky said, feeling a great sense of relief from the light and Samoylenko’s presence. “You, Alexander Davidich, are my only, my best, friend … All of my hopes hang on you. For God’s sake, whether you like it or not, help me. I must leave this place so that it doesn’t come to
that
. Loan me money!”
    “Oh, my God, my God! …” Samoylenko exhaled, scratching himself. “I fall asleep to the sound of a whistle blowing, the arrival of a liner, and then you … Do you need much?”
    “At the very least, about three hundred rubles. I need to leave her a hundred and I need two hundred for the road … I already owe you nearly four hundred, but I’ll send it all to you … everything …”
    Samoylenko, taking hold of both side-whiskers in one hand, planted both feet and began to think.
    “Now, then …” he muttered, lost in thought. “Three hundred … Yes … But I don’t have that much. I’ll have to borrow it from someone.”
    “Borrow, for the love of God!” Laevsky said, seeing from Samoylenko’s face that he not only wanted to give him the money but certainly would. “Borrow, and I’ll certainly pay you back. I’ll dispatch it from Petersburg as soon as I arrive. Rest assured. Here’s what we’ll do, Sasha,” he said, feeling revived, “let’s have some wine!”
    “Sure … We can even have wine.”
    They both went to the dining room.
    “What will become of Nadezhda Fyodorovna?” Samoylenko asked, placing three bottles on the table and a plate of peaches. “Will she really stay here?”
    “I’ll arrange everything, everything …” Laevsky said, feeling an unexpected surge of happiness. “I’ll send her money later, and she’ll come to me … And then we can sort out our relationship there. To your health, my friend.”
    “Wait a second!” Samoylenko said. “Drink this first … It’s from my vineyard. This here bottle is from the Navaridez vineyard, and this one is from Akhatulov … Try all three of them, then tell me in all honesty … Mine seem to have acid. Well? Do you taste them?”
    “Yes. You’ve calmed me, Alexander Davidich. Thank you … I’ve been revived.”
    “Because of the tannins?”
    “The devil only knows, I don’t know. But you are a magnificent and wonderful man!”
    Looking at his pale, anxious, kind face, Samoylenko remembered the opinions of Von Koren, that people like him must be annihilated, and Laevsky seemed weak to him, a defenseless child that anything could harm or destroy.
    “Oh, and once you’ve set off, make amends with your mother,” he said. “It’s not good as it stands.”
    “Yes, yes, certainly.”
    They were silent for a while. When they had finished drinking the first bottle, Samoylenko said:
    “Why don’t you make peace with Von Koren. You are both splendiferous, knowledgeable people, but you glare at one another like wolves.”
    “Yes, he’s a splendiferous, knowledgeable man,” agreed Laevsky, prepared to praise and forgive everyone. “He’s a remarkable man, but it’s impossible for me to reconcile with him. No! Our natures are too different.