“You have determined to be happy under any circumstances, I suppose?” he observed, after a pause. He could not resist making the remark disdainfully.
“Yes, I have,” said Pavel, quietly.
“It's no business of mine that he's a fool and a knave, out of pure idiocy!” thought Velchaninoff. “I can't help hating him, though I feel that he is not even worth hating.”
“I'm a permanent husband,” said Pavel Pavlovitch, with the most exquisitely servile irony, at his own expense. “I remember you using that expression, Alexey Ivanovitch, long ago, when you were with us at T——. I remember many of your original phrases of that time, and when you spoke of ‘permanent husbands,’ the other day, I recollected the expression.”
At this point Mavra entered the room with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“Forgive me, Alexey Ivanovitch,” said Pavel, “you know I can't get on without it. Don't consider it an audacity on my part—think of it as a mere bit of by-play unworthy your notice.”
“Well,” consented Velchaninoff, with a look of disgust, “but I must remind you that I don't feel well, and that—”
“One little moment—I'll go at once, I really will—I must just drink one glass, my throat is so——”
He seized the bottle eagerly, and poured himself out a glass, drank it greedily at a gulp, and sat down. He looked at Velchaninoff almost tenderly.
“What a nasty looking beast!” muttered the latter to himself.