The officers wandered off; the police accommodated themselves to the situation, to the presence of the half naked couple, and stood about sleepily, with that absence of visible thought which renders the faces of all guards alike.
The superintendent put his hands on the table and pondered deeply and sadly—that he would not get a nap today, that he would have to go to the station and set matters on foot. But something else made him even more melancholy and weary.
»May I dress myself?« asked Liuba.
»No!«
»I'm cold.«
»Never mind—sit as you are!«
The superintendent didn't even look at her. So she turned away, and, stretching out her thin neck, whispered something to the man, softly, with her lips only. He raised his brows in enquiry, and she repeated:
»Darling! My Darling!«
He nodded and smiled affectionately. Then seeing him smile to to her so gently, though plainly forgetting nothing—seeing him, who was so handsome and proud, now naked and despised by all, with his dirty bare legs, she was suddenly flushed with a feeling of unbearable love and demoniac blind wrath. She gasped, and flung herself on her knees on that damp floor, and embraced those cold hairy feet.
»Dress yourself, darling!« she murmured in an ecstasy. »Dress yourself!«