Elkin gave Boulatoff a stare of freezing irony, as who should say: “What do you think of the assurance of this man?” and then, dropping his eyes, he asked:
“What girl?” When he spoke his lips assumed the form of two obtuse angles, exposing to view a glistening lozenge of white teeth.
“Look here, Elkin, I want to know who that girl is and all about the whole affair, and if you think I ought not to know it because—well, because I am a Boulatoff and my uncle is the governor, I can assure you that if I had been there I should have acted as she did. What’s more, I hate myself for not having been there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Elkin. “As to your hating yourself, that’s your own affair.”
“Well, however I may feel toward myself, I certainly have nothing but contempt for a man like you,” Pasha snapped back, paling. “But if you think you can keep it from me, you’re mistaken.”
Elkin sized him up with a look full of venom, as he said:
“Pitiful wretch! How are you going to find it out? Through the political spies?”
Pavel turned red. It was with a great effort that he kept himself from striking Elkin. After a pause he said:
“Now, I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that you are a knave.”
“Besides,” said Elkin, as though finishing an interrupted remark, “most of the gymnasium girls who saw Alexandre Alexandrovich off are daughters of poor, humble people, so of what interest would it have been to a man in your position?”