“In that case, help that hungry Turk who is lying under the fence! He is a workman and more useful and indispensable than your Laevsky. Give him that hundred-rouble note! Or subscribe a hundred roubles to my expedition!”
“Will you give me the money or not? I ask you!”
“Tell me openly: what does he want money for?”
“It’s not a secret; he wants to go to Petersburg on Saturday.”
“So that is it!” Von Koren drawled out. “Aha! . . . We understand. And is she going with him, or how is it to be?”
“She’s staying here for the time. He’ll arrange his affairs in Petersburg and send her the money, and then she’ll go.”
“That’s smart!” said the zoologist, and he gave a short tenor laugh. “Smart, well planned.”
He went rapidly up to Samoylenko, and standing face to face with him, and looking him in the eyes, asked: “Tell me now honestly: is he tired of her? Yes? tell me: is he tired of her? Yes?”
“Yes,” Samoylenko articulated, beginning to perspire.
“How repulsive it is!” said Von Koren, and from his face it could be seen that he felt repulsion. “One of two things, Alexandr Daviditch: either you are in the plot with him, or, excuse my saying so, you are a simpleton. Surely you must see that he is taking you in like a child in the most shameless way? Why, it’s as clear as day that he wants to get rid of her and abandon her here. She’ll be left a burden on you. It is as clear as day that you will have to send her to Petersburg at your expense. Surely your fine friend can’t have so blinded you by his dazzling qualities that you can’t see the simplest thing?”