“Listen, Pavel Pavlovitch,” he said; “it is entirely the same thing to me whether you knew or did not know all about it. If you did not know, so much the more honourable is it for you; but—I can't understand why you should have selected me for your confidant.”
“I wasn't talking of you; don't be angry, it wasn't about you,” muttered Pavel Pavlovitch, with his eyes fixed on the ground.
At this moment, Mavra entered with the champagne.
“Here it is!” cried Pavel Pavlovitch, immensely delighted at the appearance of the wine. “Now then, tumblers my good girl, tumblers quick! Capital! Thank you, we don't require you any more, my good Mavra. What! you've drawn the cork? Excellent creature. Well, ta-ta! off with you.”
Mavra's advent with the bottle so encouraged him that he again looked at Velchaninoff with some defiance.
“Now confess,” he giggled suddenly, “confess that you are very curious indeed to hear about all this, and that it is by no means ‘entirely the same to you,’ as you declared! Confess that you would be miserable if I were to get up and go away this very minute without telling you anything more.”
“Not the least in the world, I assure you!”
Pavel Pavlovitch smiled; and his smile said, as plainly as words could, “That's a lie!”
“Well, let's to business,” he said, and poured out two glasses of champagne.
“Here's a toast,” he continued, raising his goblet, “to the health in Paradise of our dear departed friend Bagantoff.”