ONE fine evening, a no less fine government clerk called Ivan Dmitritch Tchervyakov was sitting in the second row of the stalls , gazing through an opera glass at the Cloches de Corneville . He gazed and felt at the acme of bliss. But suddenly. . . . But suddenly his face puckered up, his eyes disappeared, his breathing was arrested . . . It is not reprehensible for anyone to sneeze anywhere.
Peasants sneeze and so do police superintendents, and sometimes even privy councillors.
All men sneeze. Tchervyakov was not in the least confused, he wiped his face with his handkerchief, and like a polite man, looked round to see whether he had disturbed any one by his sneezing. But then he was overcome with confusion. He saw that an old gentleman sitting in front of him in the first row of the stalls was carefully wiping his bald head and his neck with his glove and muttering something to himself. In the old gentleman, Tchervyakov recognised Brizzhalov, a civilian general serving in the Department of Transport.