“May she sign it here?” asked Nekhludoff, turning to the inspector.
“It’s all right, it’s all right! Sit down. Here’s a pen; you can write?” said the inspector.
“I could at one time,” she said; and, after arranging her skirt and the sleeves of her jacket, she sat down at the table, smiled awkwardly, took the pen with her small, energetic hand, and glanced at Nekhludoff with a laugh.
Nekhludoff told her what to write and pointed out the place where to sign.
Sighing deeply as she dipped her pen into the ink, and carefully shaking some drops off the pen, she wrote her name.
“Is it all?” she asked, looking from Nekhludoff to the inspector, and putting the pen now on the inkstand, now on the papers.
“I have a few words to tell you,” Nekhludoff said, taking the pen from her.
“All right; tell me,” she said. And suddenly, as if remembering something, or feeling sleepy, she grew serious.
The inspector rose and left the room, and Nekhludoff remained with her.