Half a minute of silence followed. The zoologist, the doctor, and the deacon stood at the window and went on looking at Laevsky.
“So he didn’t get away from here, poor fellow,” said Samoylenko. “Do you remember how hard he tried?”
“Yes, he has put a screw on himself,” Von Koren repeated. “His marriage, the way he works all day long for his daily bread, a new expression in his face, and even in his walk—it’s all so extraordinary that I don’t know what to call it.”
The zoologist took Samoylenko’s sleeve and went on with emotion in his voice:
“You tell him and his wife that when I went away I was full of admiration for them and wished them all happiness . . . and I beg him, if he can, not to remember evil against me. He knows me. He knows that if I could have foreseen this change, then I might have become his best friend.”
“Go in and say good-bye to him.”
“No, that wouldn’t do.”
“Why? God knows, perhaps you’ll never see him again.”
The zoologist reflected, and said:
“That’s true.”