“You are not mistaken, your excellency. I had the honour of meeting you in St. Petersburg at a certain person’s who ... who has since ... unfortunately ... incurred your displeasure—”
Sipiagin jumped up from his chair.
“Why, at Mr. Nejdanov’s? I remember now. You haven’t come from him by the way, have you?”
“Not at all, your excellency; on the contrary ... I—”
Sipiagin sat down again.
“That’s good. For had you come on his account I should have asked you to leave the house at once. I cannot allow any mediator between myself and Mr. Nejdanov. Mr. Nejdanov has insulted me in a way which cannot be forgotten.... I am above any feelings of revenge, but I don’t wish to know anything of him, nor of the girl—more depraved in mind than in heart” (Sipiagin had repeated this phrase at least thirty times since Mariana ran away), “who could bring herself to abandon a home that had sheltered her, to become the mistress of a nameless adventurer! It is enough for them that I am content to forget them.”
At this last word Sipiagin waved his wrist into space.
“I forget them, my dear sir!”
“Your excellency, I have already told you that I did not come from them in particular, but I may inform your excellency that they are legally married....” (“It’s all the same,” Paklin thought; “I said that I would lie and so here I am. Never mind!”)
Sipiagin moved his head from left to right on the back of his chair.