Yevsey sighed.
"Why, I don't like it. I do what I'm told to do."
The author stepped up to him, then turned aside. Klimkov saw the door through which he had entered, saw it because the author's glance was turned to it.
"I ought to go," he thought.
"Do you want to ask me anything?" inquired the author.
"No, I am going."
"Good-by." And the host moved to let him pass. Yevsey walking on tip-toe went into the ante-chamber, where he began to put on his overcoat. From the door of the room he heard a question:
"Listen, why did you tell me about yourself?"
Squeezing his hat in his hands Yevsey thought, and answered:
"Just so. Timofey Vasilyevich respects you very much, the one who sent me."