Nejdanov was sincerely enthusiastic in his praise of Markelov, and expressed himself with particular warmth about Solomin. While uttering the most enthusiastic expressions about him, he kept asking himself continually why he had such a high opinion of this man. He had not said anything very brilliant and, in fact, some of his words were in direct opposition to his (Nejdanov’s) own convictions. “His head is screwed on the right way,” he thought. “A cool, steady man, as Fimishka said; a powerful man, of calm, firm strength. He knows what he wants, has confidence in himself, and arouses confidence in others. He has no anxieties and is well-balanced! That is the main thing; he has balance, just what is lacking in me!” Nejdanov ceased speaking and became lost in meditation. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Alexai! What is the matter with you?” Mariana asked.
He took her tiny, strong hand from his shoulder and kissed it for the first time. Mariana laughed softly, surprised that such a thing should have occurred to him. She in her turn became pensive.
“Did Markelov show you Valentina Mihailovna’s letter?” she asked at last.
“Yes, he did.”
“Well, and how is he?”
“Markelov? He is the most honourable, most unselfish man in existence! He—”
Nejdanov wanted to tell Mariana about the portrait, but pulled himself up and added, “He is the soul of honour!”
“Oh yes, I know.”
Mariana became pensive again. She suddenly turned to Nejdanov on the trunk they were both sitting on and asked quickly: