‘Make an end, make an end at once,’ he thought; ‘it’s useless putting it off till to-morrow.’ Then he went to the gambling saloon, stared with dull curiosity at the faces of two or three gamblers, got a back view of Bindasov’s ugly head in the distance, noticed the irreproachable countenance of Pishtchalkin, and after waiting a little under the colonnade, he set off deliberately to Irina’s. He was not going to her through the force of sudden, involuntary temptation; when he made up his mind to go away, he also made up his mind to keep his word and see her once more. He went into the hotel unobserved by the porter, ascended the staircase, not meeting any one, and without knocking at the door, he mechanically pushed it open and went into the room.
In the room, in the same armchair, in the same dress, in precisely the same attitude as three hours before, was sitting Irina.... It was obvious that she had not moved from the place, had not stirred all that time. She slowly raised her head, and seeing Litvinov, she trembled all over and clutched the arm of the chair. ‘You frightened me,’ she whispered.
Litvinov looked at her with speechless bewilderment. The expression of her face, her lustreless eyes, astounded him.
Irina gave a forced smile and smoothed her ruffled hair. ‘Never mind.... I really don’t know.... I think I must have fallen asleep here.’
‘I beg your pardon, Irina Pavlovna,’ began Litvinov. ‘I came in unannounced.... I wanted to do what you thought fit to require of me. So as I am going away to-day——’
‘To-day? But I thought you told me that you meant first to write a letter——’
‘I have sent a telegram.’
‘Ah! you found it necessary to make haste. And when are you going? What time, I mean?’
‘At seven o’clock this evening.’