“For whom?”
Without replying to the question Trirodov inquired:
“But where? ... There’s no one here. You didn’t hear...?”
“I wasn’t trained to eavesdropping,” replied Piotr; “all the more since these fragments of poetry are inaccessible to me.”
“Who talks of eavesdropping?” exclaimed Trirodov. “No, I thought that you had unwillingly heard some words which might have sounded strange, enigmatic, or terrible in your ears.”
“I came here by chance,” said Piotr. “I was taking a mere stroll, and was not here to listen to any one.”
Trirodov looked attentively at Piotr; then lowered his head with a sigh, and said quietly:
“Forgive me. My nerves are in a bad state. I have grown accustomed to living with my fantasies, and in the peaceful society of my quiet children. I love seclusion.”
“Where did your quiet children come from?” asked Piotr somewhat contemptuously.
But Trirodov continued as though he had not heard.