I moved away and stood watching. I was not going to give him any possible illusion as to my welcoming him. He turned round and looked at me.
“Truly, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said, “you are a fine host. This is a miserable greeting.”
“There can be no greetings between us ever again,” I answered him. “You are a blackguard. I hope that this is our last meeting.”
“But it is,” he answered, looking at me with friendliness; “that is precisely why I’ve come. I’ve come to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” I repeated with astonishment. This chimed in so strangely with my premonition. “I never was more delighted to hear it. I hope you’re going a long distance from us all.”
“That’s as may be,” he answered. “I can’t tell you definitely.”
“When are you going?” I asked.
“That I can’t tell you either. But I have a premonition that it will be soon.”
“Oh, a premonition,” I said, disappointed. “Is nothing settled?”
“No, not definitely. It depends on others.”