“First of all, I must ask you a question. Have you invariably shown my wife, Alexandra Petrovna, due regard and respect?”
“I don’t understand what you mean, Vladimir Yefimovich,” replied Romashov; “but I, too, have a question....”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Nikoläiev in a sharp tone, “our questions ought, to avoid confusion, to be put in turn—first I, then you. And now let us talk openly and without restraint. Answer me this question first. Is it a matter of supreme indifference to you that my wife—that her good name—has been the subject of scandal and slander? No, no, don’t interrupt me. You can hardly deny, I suppose, that on my part you have never experienced anything but goodwill, and that, in our house, you have always been received as an intimate friend—nay, almost as a relation.”
Romashov made a false step and stumbled on the loose ground. In an embarrassed tone he mumbled in reply—
“Be assured, Vladimir Yefimovich, that I shall always feel grateful to you and Alexandra Petrovna.”
“Ah, that’s not the question,” said Nikoläiev, angrily interrupting him. “I am not soliciting your gratitude. I’ll only tell you that my wife has been the victim of dirty, lying scandal in which” (Nikoläiev almost panted out the words, and he wiped his face with his handkerchief)—“well, to put it shortly, a scandal in which you, too, are mixed up. We both—she and I—are greeted almost every day with the most shameless anonymous letters. It is too disgusting to me to put these letters before you, but you shall know a good deal of their contents.” Nikoläiev broke off his speech, but, in the next minute, he continued with a stammer. “By all the devils—now listen—they say that you are Alexandra Petrovna’s lover, and that—how horrible!—secret meetings daily take place in your room. The whole regiment is talking about it. What a scandal!”
He bit his teeth in rage and spat.
“I know who has written these letters,” answered Romashov in a lowered voice, and turned away.
“Do you?” Nikoläiev stopped suddenly and clutched Romashov’s arm tightly. It was quite plain now that his forced calm was quite exhausted. His bestial eyes grew bigger, his face became blood-red, foam began to appear at the corners of his mouth, and, as he bent in a threatening manner towards Romashov, he shrieked madly—
“So you know this, and you even dare to keep silence! Don’t you understand that it is quite plainly your bounden duty to slay this serpent brood, to put a stop at once to this insidious slander? My—noble Don Juan, if you are an honourable man and not a ——”