"Well, yes. What harm is there in it? All! What is it to you?"
"Listen: tell me the truth, as to a comrade," said the count, who, under the influence of the wine that he had been drinking, was disposed to be tender, and continued to smooth the other's hair. "You know I have taken a fancy to you. Tell me the truth. If you have lost the public money, I will help you; if you don't, it will be too late.... Was it public money?"
Ilyin leaped up from the sofa.
"If you wish me to tell you, don't speak to me so, because ... and I beg of you don't speak to me.... I will blow my brains out—that's the only thing that's left for me now!" he exclaimed with genuine despair, letting his head sink into his hands, and bursting into tears, although but the moment before he had been calmly thinking about his horses.
"Ekh! you're a pretty young girl! Well, who might not have the same thing happen to him? It isn't as bad as it might be; perhaps we can straighten things out: wait for me here."
The count hastened from the room.
"Where is the pomyeshchik[69] Lukhnof's room?" he demanded of the hall-boy.
The hall-boy offered to show the count the way. The count in spite of the objections of the lackey, who said that his master had only just come in and was preparing to retire, entered the room.
Lukhnof in his dressing-gown was sitting in front of a table, counting over a number of packages of bank-notes piled up before him. On the table was a bottle of Rheinwein, of which he was very fond. He had procured himself this pleasure from his winnings.
Coldly, sternly, Lukhnof looked at the count over his glasses, affecting not to recognize him.