Mariana had not yet appeared, when Solomin came into Nejdanov’s room. The latter was standing with his face to the window, his forehead resting on the palm of his hand and his elbow on the window-pane. Solomin touched him on the shoulder. He turned around quickly; dishevelled and unwashed, Nejdanov had a strange wild look. Solomin, too, had changed during the last days. His face was yellow and drawn and his upper front teeth showed slightly—he, too, seemed agitated as far as it was possible for his well-balanced temperament to be so.
“Markelov could not control himself after all,” he began. “This may turn out badly both for him and for others.”
“I want to go and see what’s going on there,” Nejdanov observed.
“And I too,” Mariana added as she appeared in the doorway.
Solomin turned to her quickly.
“I would not advise you to go, Mariana. You may give yourself away—and us, without meaning to, and without the slightest necessity. Let Nejdanov go and see how the land lies, if he wants to—and the sooner he’s back the better! But why should you go?”
“I don’t want to be parted from him.”
“You will be in his way.”
Mariana looked at Nejdanov. He was standing motionless with a set sullen expression on his face.
“But supposing there should be danger?” she asked.