‘The treatment is quite indispensable,’ observed Nikolai Artemyevitch, ‘my liver is affected.’
At that instant Shubin came in. He looked tired. A slight almost ironical smile played on his lips.
‘You asked for me, Anna Vassilyevna?’ he observed.
‘Yes, certainly I asked for you. Really, Paul, this is dreadful. I am very much displeased with you. How could you be wanting in respect to Nikolai Artemyevitch?’
‘Nikolai Artemyevitch has complained of me to you?’ inquired Shubin, and with the same smile on his lips he looked at Stahov. The latter turned away, dropping his eyes.
‘Yes, he complains of you. I don’t know what you have done amiss, but you ought to apologise at once, because his health is very much deranged just now, and indeed we all ought when we are young to treat our benefactors with respect.’
‘Ah, what logic!’ thought Shubin, and he turned to Stahov. ‘I am ready to apologise to you, Nikolai Artemyevitch,’ he said with a polite half-bow, ‘if I have really offended you in any way.’
‘I did not at all... with that idea,’ rejoined Nikolai Artemyevitch, still as before avoiding Shubin’s eyes. ‘However, I will readily forgive you, for, as you know, I am not an exacting person.’
‘Oh, that admits of no doubt!’ said Shubin. ‘But allow me to be inquisitive; is Anna Vassilyevna aware precisely what constituted my offence?’
‘No, I know nothing,’ observed Anna Vassilyevna, craning forward her head expectantly.