Anna Nicolayevna’s eyes grew red. She had an impulse to fold him in her arms and to offer to take him to Pievakin’s new place so that he might protest his sympathy and affection for the old man, but her instinct told her that this would be improper. Oh, there were so many things that made a strong appeal to one’s better feelings which were considered improper. So she emitted a sigh of resignation and said nothing.
Pavel was pacing the floor so vehemently that he came near running into and knocking down the life-sized Diana. He walked with rapid heavy steps until his brain grew dizzy and his despair was dulled as from the effect of drink. Suddenly the situation rushed back upon him.
“I tell you what, mother, he’s too good for them,” he said, stopping in front of her. “He is better than uncle, anyhow.”
“Hush, you mustn’t say that.”
“The devil I mustn’t. It’s true.”
“You are impossible, Pasha. Can’t you calm down?”
“I’ll tell you calmly, then: uncle is a bribe-taker and a heartless egoist. There.”
“Dear me,” she said, in consternation.
“But you know he is, mother. And do you call that loyalty to the Czar? Pievakin is pure as an infant. If the Czar knew the real character of both, he would know that the poor man could give uncle points in loyalty.”