For some reason the doorman-misanthrope took an instant dislike to these two.

" Foreign currency only, " he rasped, looking out angrily from beneath his shaggy, gray eyebrows, which looked moth-eaten.

" My dear man, " crackled the tall man, his eye sparkling through his cracked pince-nez, " and how do you know I don't have foreign currency? Are you judging by my suit? Don't ever do that, my precious watchman! You might make a mistake and a very serious one at that. If

The Final Adventure of Korovyov and Behemoth 295

you don't believe me, have another look at the story of the famous caliph, Harun al-Rashid. But leaving that aside for the moment, let me say that in the present instance I shall lodge a complaint against you with your superior and shall tell him some things about you that might force you to give up your post here between these shiny plate-glass doors."

" Maybe I have a whole primus full of foreign currency, " joined in the catlike fat man in a whiny voice as he pushed his way into the store.

The people in back of him were angry and already pushing to get in. Looking at the odd pair with hatred and uncertainty, the doorman moved aside, and our friends, Korovyov and Behemoth, found themselves inside the store. Here they first got their bearings, and then Korovyov announced in a booming voice that could be heard throughout the store, " A splendid store! A very, very, fine store! "

Customers turned away from the counters and for some reason stared at the speaker in astonishment even though his praise of the store was completely justified.

Hundreds of bolts of the most richly colored chintz were on display in floor cases. Behind them towered piles of calico, chiffon, and doth for uniforms. Stacks of shoe boxes stretched into the distance, and several women were sitting on low stools trying on shoes—their right feet in their old, worn-down shoes, and their left ones in shiny new litde boats which they tapped anxiously on the carpet. Somewhere around the corner, in the bowels of the store, gramophones played and sang.

But shunning all these delights, Korovyov and Behemoth headed straight for the specialty food and confectionery departments. Here there was plenty of room, and women in kerchiefs and berets were not crowding against the counters, as they were in the dry-goods department

A shortish, completely square little man in horn-rimmed glasses was standing in front of the counter, bellowing something in a commanding voice. His face was shaven to a blue sheen and he was wearing a crisp, new hat with an immaculate headband, a lilac-colored overcoat, and red kid gloves. A clerk in a fresh white coat and dark-blue cap was waiting on the lilac customer. With an extremely sharp knife, very similar to the one stolen by Levi Matvei, he was removing the snakelike, silver-flecked skin from a fat, juicy, rose-colored salmon.

This department is magnificent too, " acknowledged Korovyov in solemn tones, " and the foreigner is nice, " he said, pointing a well-meaning finger at the lilac back.

" No, Fagot, no, " replied Behemoth pensively, " You're wrong, my friend. In my opinion there's something lacking in the lilac gentleman's face."