'Yes, Percival, it is I,' said Petrovitch; 'but let this be the last time you call me Litvinoff, and I must not call you Percival either. I think I have a right to ask that. You have chosen to put on the Prophet's Mantle, and for all our sakes you must wear it a little longer.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean simply that you must still be Count Litvinoff, and I must still be Petrovitch.'
'Then you are Petrovitch! Why did you take a false name to mislead me?' he groaned. 'Why did you let me go on wearing your name, and spending your money? Why not have let me know at once, when every day made things worse? I would have gone out of life long ago rather than face this meeting.'
'And yet you seemed glad to see me, too?' said Petrovitch, looking at him curiously. 'But I took no false name; my name is really Petrovitch. My father's name was Peter, you know. You ought to remember that. You have heard me called by it often enough.'
'I never thought of you by it, though; and besides, I thought you were dead. You know that I thought you were dead?' with a sudden, quick doubt in his voice.
'Of course!'
'You know, don't you,' he went on eagerly, 'that I would gladly have given my life for yours, and that I never hoped for anything so good in this world as to see you alive? Yes, in spite of everything, though I can't expect you to believe it,' he ended bitterly.
'I have never doubted it,' Petrovitch answered; and with a sudden thrill of pity for the despair, the remorse, the longing, and the wretchedness in the other's face, he added, 'Come, old friend, don't take this so much to heart. It is nothing that cannot be put right. You will see when we come to talk it over quietly. Can't we have some tea?'