Volintsev raised himself, and, leaning on his elbow gazed a long, long while into his friend’s face, and then repeated to him his whole conversation with Rudin word for word. He had never before given Lezhnyov a hint of his sentiments towards Natalya, though he guessed they were no secret to him.
‘Well, brother, you have surprised me!’ Lezhnyov said, as soon as Volintsev had finished his story. ‘I expected many strange things from him, but this is——Still I can see him in it.’
‘Upon my honour!’ cried Volintsev, in great excitement, ‘it is simply insolence! Why, I almost threw him out of the window. Did he want to boast to me or was he afraid? What was the object of it? How could he make up his mind to come to a man——?’
Volintsev clasped his hands over his head and was speechless.
‘No, brother, that’s not it,’ replied Lezhnyov tranquilly; ‘you won’t believe me, but he really did it from a good motive. Yes, indeed. It was generous, do you see, and candid, to be sure, and it would offer an opportunity of speechifying and giving vent to his fine talk, and, of course, that’s what he wants, what he can’t live without. Ah! his tongue is his enemy. Though it’s a good servant to him too.’
‘With what solemnity he came in and talked, you can’t imagine!’
‘Well, he can’t do anything without that. He buttons his great-coat as if he were fulfilling a sacred duty. I should like to put him on a desert island and look round a corner to see how he would behave there. And he discourses on simplicity!’
‘But tell me, my dear fellow,’ asked Volintsev, ‘what is it, philosophy or what?’
‘How can I tell you? On one side it is philosophy, I daresay, and on the other something altogether different. It is not right to put every folly down to philosophy.’
Volintsev looked at him.