And then, suddenly, he felt full of trust and sympathy for Sanine, strong and calm as he was. He himself resembled a little school-boy, eager to tell some one of his trouble. Tears filled his eyes.
“If you only knew how sad at heart I am,” he murmured, striving to conquer his emotion.
“My dear fellow, I know all about it—everything,” said Sanine kindly.
“No! You can’t know all!” said Novikoff, as he sat down beside the other. He thought that no one could possibly feel such sorrow as his.
“Yes, yes, I do,” replied Sanine, “I swear that I do; and if you’ll promise not to attack me with your old boot, I will prove what I say. Promise?”
“Yes, yes! Forgive me, Volodja!” said Novikoff, calling Sanine by his first name which he had never done before. This touched Sanine, and he felt the more anxious to help his friend.
“Well, then, listen,” he began, as he placed his hand in confidential fashion on the other’s knee. “Let us be quite frank. You are going away, because Lida refused you, and because, at Sarudine’s the other day, you had an idea that it was she who came to see him in private.”
Novikoff bent forward, too distressed to speak. It was as if Sanine had re-opened an agonizing wound. The latter, noticing Novikoff’s agitation, thought inwardly, “You good-natured old fool!”
Then he continued:
“As to the relations between Lida and Sarudine, I can affirm nothing positively, for I know nothing, but I don’t believe that….” He did not finish the sentence when he saw how dark the other’s face became.