“The young lady is there, sir.”
Sarudine started. “What?” he cried.
“She has come, sir.”
“Ah! yes, I know,” said Sarudine. He glanced about him nervously, feeling a sudden presentiment.
“I wonder if it’s Lida?” he thought. “Impossible!”
Volochine’s inquisitive eyes twinkled. His puny little body in its loose white clothes seemed to acquire new vitality.
“Well, good-bye!” he said, laughing. “Up to your old tricks, as usual! Ha! Ha!”
Sarudine smiled uneasily, as he accompanied his visitor to the door, and with a parting stare the latter in his immaculate shoes hurried off.
“Now, sirs,” said Sarudine, on his return, “how’s the game going? Take the bank for me, will you, Tanaroff? I shall be back directly.” He spoke hastily; his eyes were restless.
“That’s a lie!” growled the drunken, bestial Malinowsky. “We mean to have a good look at that young lady of yours.”