It was nearly two o’clock. The short June night was fading out. The café where the chess players met began to empty soon after midnight, and, by this time, even the most ardent players had left. The huge place was deserted; on the small tables with chessboards, a few pieces stood in endgame position, kings rising high among the remaining pawns like biblical patriarchs, the position of one of them, as always, precarious, as behooves the prince of this world, and the played-out pieces were lying around like sinners at the Last Judgment or like citizens of a doomed town.
At one end of the hall, however, near the corner, some habitués had pushed their tables together and were still talking. One of them said:
“I want to crush him;…