It was a calm evening. The air was warm, and a slight dust floated
above the streets. Except for one or two passers-by, the boulevard was
absolutely deserted. Yourii walked slowly along, his eyes fixed on the
ground.
"How boring!" he thought. "What am I to do?"
Suddenly Schafroff, the student, walking briskly, and, swinging his
arm, approached him with a friendly smile on his face.
"Why are you dawdling along like this, eh?" he asked, stopping short,
and giving Yourii a big, strong hand.
"Oh! I am bored to death, and there's nothing to do. Where are you
going?" asked Yourii, in a languid, patronizing tone. He always spoke
thus to Schafroff, because, as a former member of the revolutionary
committee he looked upon the lad as just an amateur revolutionist.
Schafroff smiled as one thoroughly pleased with himself.
"We have got a lecture to-day," he said, pointing to a packet of thin
pamphlets in coloured wrappers. Yourii mechanically took one, and,
opening it, read the long, dry preface to a popular Socialistic
address, once well known to him, but which he had quite forgotten.
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