"No; words, idle words—words not meant to be taken personally."
"Then you yourself might be capable of surrendering?"
"I might. But in any case I should not care to boast."
Both remained silent for a moment. From the drawing-room came the notes of the piano.
"How late Katia is playing!" remarked Anna Sergievna.
Bazarov raised his head.
"Yes, it is late," he said. "Time for you to go to rest."
"Wait a moment, however. Why should you hurry away? I have something more to say to you."
"What may it be?"
"Wait," she repeated. As she did so, her eyes gazed at him as though studying his personality. For a few moments he paced the room—then suddenly approached her, said "Good night," squeezed her hand until she could have shrieked with the pain, and departed.