“To be sure I do.”
“But didn’t you tell me you didn’t interfere in any of your wife’s affairs?”
“I don’t in any other. But this … is no consequence. To pass the time—one may do it. And my wife has confidence in my taste. And I’m a first-rate hand at bargaining.”
Polozov began to speak by jerks; he was exhausted already. “And is your wife very rich?”
“Rich; yes, rather! Only she keeps the most of it for herself.”
“But I expect you can’t complain either?”
“Well, I’m her husband. I’m hardly likely not to get some benefit from it! And I’m of use to her. With me she can do just as she likes! I’m easy-going!”
Polozov wiped his face with a silk handkerchief and puffed painfully, as though to say, “Have mercy on me; don’t force me to utter another word. You see how hard it is for me.”
Sanin left him in peace, and again sank into meditation.
The hotel in Wiesbaden, before which the carriage stopped, was exactly like a palace. Bells were promptly set ringing in its inmost recesses; a fuss and bustle arose; men of good appearance in black frock-coats skipped out at the principal entrance; a door-keeper who was a blaze of gold opened the carriage doors with a flourish.