“What a man!” the governor thought with admiration, gazing respectfully at Sipiagin. He gave the order and a minute later Sila Paklin stood before him.
Paklin bowed very low to the governor as he came in, but catching sight of Markelov before he had time to raise himself, remained as he was, half bent down, fidgetting with his cap. Markelov looked at him vacantly, but could hardly have recognised him, as he withdrew into his own thoughts.
“Is this the branch?” the governor asked, pointing to Paklin with a long white finger adorned with a turquoise ring.
“Oh, no!” Sipiagin exclaimed with a slight smile. “However, who knows!” he added after a moment’s thought. “Your excellency,” he said aloud, “the gentleman before you is Mr. Paklin. He comes from St. Petersburg and is a close friend of a certain person who for a time held the position of tutor in my house and who ran away, taking with him a certain young girl who, I blush to say, is my niece.”
“Ah! oui, oui,” the governor mumbled, shaking his head, “I heard the story.... The princess told me——”
Sipiagin raised his voice.
“That person is a certain Mr. Nejdanov, whom I strongly suspect of dangerous ideas and theories—”
“Un rouge à tous crins,” Kollomietzev put in.
“Yes, dangerous ideas and theories,” Sipiagin repeated more emphatically. “He must certainly know something about this propaganda. He is ... in hiding, as I have been informed by Mr. Paklin, in the merchant Falyaeva’s factory—”
At these words Markelov threw another glance at Paklin and gave a slow, indifferent smile.