Punin all at once flushed crimson, the blood seemed to rush to his head, he plumped heavily down on his knees. ‘Save us, friend, let us go to her.’
My servant appeared in the doorway, and stood still in amazement.
I had no little trouble to get Punin on to his feet again, to convince him that, even if I did suspect something, still it would not do to act like that, on the spur of the moment, especially both together—that would only spoil all our efforts—that I was ready to do my best, but would not answer for anything. Punin did not oppose me, nor did he indeed hear me; he only repeated from time to time in his broken voice, ‘Save her, save her and Paramon Semyonitch.’ At last he began to cry. ‘Tell me at least one thing,’ he asked ... ‘is he handsome, young?’
‘Yes, he is young,’ I answered.
‘He is young,’ repeated Punin, smearing the tears over his cheeks; ‘and she is young.... It’s from that that all the trouble’s sprung!’
This rhyme came by chance; poor Punin was in no mood for versifying. I would have given a good deal to hear his rhapsodical eloquence again, or even his almost noiseless laugh.... Alas! his eloquence was quenched for ever, and I never heard his laugh again.
I promised to let him know, as soon as I should find out anything positive.... Tarhov’s name I did not, however, mention. Punin suddenly collapsed completely. ‘Very good, very good, sir, thank you,’ he said with a pitiful face, using the word ‘sir,’ which he had never done before; ‘only mind, sir, do not say anything to Paramon Semyonitch ... or he’ll be angry. In one word, he has forbidden it. Good-bye, sir.’
As he got up and turned his back to me, Punin struck me as such a poor feeble creature, that I positively marvelled; he limped with both legs, and doubled up at each step....
‘It’s a bad look-out. It’s the end of him, that’s what it means,’ I thought.