Aleksandr Mikhailovitch Veriga received Peredonov in his study. He pretended to hurry forward to greet his guest, and gave the impression that it was only his extreme busyness that kept him from meeting Peredonov earlier.
Veriga held himself extraordinarily erect even for a retired cavalry officer. It was whispered that he wore corsets. His clean-shaven face was a uniform red, as if it were painted. His head was shorn by the closest-cutting clippers—a convenient method of minimising his bald patch. His eyes were grey, affable, but cold. In his manner he was extremely amiable to everyone, but his views were decided and severe. A fine military discipline was apparent in all his movements, and there was a hint in his habits of the future Governor.
Peredonov began to explain his business to him across a carved oak table:
"All sorts of rumours are being spread about me and, as a gentleman,[1] I turn to you. All sorts of nonsense is being said about me, your Excellency, none of which is true."
"I haven't heard anything," replied Veriga, smiling amiably and expectantly, and fixing his attentive grey eyes on Peredonov.
Peredonov looked fixedly in one corner of the room and said:
"I never was a Socialist. But if it sometimes happened that I said something I oughtn't to say, you must remember that one is apt to be a little careless in one's young days. But I've given up thinking of such things altogether."
"So you were quite a Liberal?" asked Veriga with an amiable smile. "You wanted a Constitution, isn't that so? But we all wanted a Constitution when we were young. Have one of these."
Veriga pushed a box of cigars towards Peredonov who was afraid to take one and refused. Veriga lighted his own.
"Of course, your Excellency," admitted Peredonov, "in the University I, and only I, wanted a different kind of Constitution from the others."