His hands shook with nervous impatience as he turned the sheets.

Suddenly someone sat down beside him at his table.

He looked up, it was the head clerk Zametov, looking just the same, with the rings on his fingers and the watch-chain, with the curly, black hair, parted and pomaded, with the smart waistcoat, rather shabby coat and doubtful linen.

He was in a good humour, at least he was smiling very gaily and good-humouredly.

His dark face was rather flushed from the champagne he had drunk.
"What, you here ?" he began in surprise, speaking as though he'd known him all his life.