He got up and went out; Mariana did not detain him.
Nejdanov sat down on the couch and covered his face with his hands. He was afraid of his own thoughts and tried to stop thinking. He felt that some sort of dark, underground hand had clutched at the very root of his being and would not let him go. He knew that the dear, sweet creature he had left in the next room would not come out to him and he dared not go to her. What for? What would he say to her?
Firm, rapid footsteps made him open his eyes. Solomin passed through his room, knocked at Mariana’s door, and went in.
“Honour where honour is due!” Nejdanov whispered bitterly.
XXXIV
It was already ten o’clock in the evening; in the drawing-room of the Arjanov house Sipiagin, his wife, and Kollomietzev were sitting over a game at cards when a footman entered and announced that an unknown gentleman, a certain Mr. Paklin, wished to see Boris Andraevitch upon a very urgent business.
“So late!” Valentina Mihailovna exclaimed, surprised.
“What?” Boris Andraevitch asked, screwing up his handsome nose; “what did you say the gentleman’s name was?”
“Mr. Paklin, sir.”
“Paklin!” Kollomietzev exclaimed; “a real country name. Paklin ... Solomin ... De vrais noms ruraux, hein?”