“I believe I have the—occasion—of speaking with Mr. Trusotsky?” he said measuredly, emphasizing the word “occasion” with particular pleasure, thereby letting it be known that there could be neither honor nor pleasure for him in talking with Mr. Trusotsky.

Velchaninov was beginning to understand; it seemed that Pavel Pavlovich, too, was already seeing some light. His face expressed uneasiness; however, he stood up for himself.

“Not having the honor of knowing you,” he answered with a dignified air, “I suppose that I cannot have any business with you, sir.”

“First you will hear me out, and then express your opinion,” the young man said confidently and didactically, and, taking out a tortoiseshell lorgnette which he had hanging on a string, he began scrutinizing through it the bottle of champagne standing on the table. Having calmly finished his examination of the bottle, he folded the lorgnette and, again addressing Pavel Pavlovich, said:

“Alexander Lobov.”

“And what is this Alexander Lobov, sir?”

“I am he. Haven’t you heard?”

“No, sir.”

“Anyway, how could you know. I’ve come with an important matter, which in fact concerns you; allow me to sit down, however, I’m tired…”

“Sit down,” Velchaninov invited—but the young man had managed to sit down before he was invited. Despite a growing pain in his chest, Velchaninov was intrigued by this impudent boy. In his pretty, childish, and ruddy face he glimpsed some distant resemblance to Nadya.

“You sit down, too,” the youth offered to Pavel Pavlovich, indicating the place opposite him with a casual nod.

“Never mind, sir, I’ll stand.”

“You’ll get tired. I suppose, Mr. Velchaninov, that you may not have to go.”

“I have nowhere to go. I live here.”

“As you will. I confess, I even wish you to be present at my talk with this gentleman. Nadezhda Fedoseevna has recommended you to me quite flatteringly.”

“Hah! When did she have time?”

“Just after you left. I’m coming from there, too. The thing is this, Mr. Trusotsky,” he turned to the standing Pavel Pavlovich, “we, that is, Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I,” he spoke through his teeth, sprawling casually in the armchair, “have long been in love and have pledged ourselves to each other. You are now a hindrance between us; I’ve come to suggest that you vacate that place. Will you be pleased to accept my suggestion?”

Pavel Pavlovich even swayed; he turned pale, but a sarcastic smile at once forced itself to his lips.

“No, sir, not at all pleased,” he snapped laconically.

“Well, now!” the youth turned in the armchair and crossed one leg over the other.

“I don’t even know with whom I am speaking, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich added, “I even think there is no reason for us to continue.”

Having spoken that out, he, too, found it necessary to sit down.

“I told you you’d get tired,” the youth observed casually. “I just had occasion to inform you that my name is Lobov and that Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I have pledged ourselves to each other—consequently, you can’t say, as you just did, that you don’t know whom you are dealing with; nor can you think that we have nothing to continue talking about; not to mention me—the matter concerns Nadezhda Fedoseevna, whom you are so insolently pestering. And that alone already constitutes a sufficient reason for explanations.”

All this he said through his teeth, like a fop, even barely deigning to articulate the words; he even took out the lorgnette again and, while speaking, directed it at something for a moment.

“Excuse me, young man…” Pavel Pavlovich exclaimed vexedly, but the “young man” at once checked him.

“At any other time I would, of course, forbid you to call me ‘young man,’ but now, you must agree, my youth is my chief advantage over you, and you might have wished very much—today, for instance, as you were presenting the bracelet—that you were at least a little bit younger.”

“Ah, you sprat!” Velchaninov whispered.

“In any case, my dear sir,” Pavel Pavlovich corrected himself with dignity, “I still do not find the reasons you have presented—improper and quite dubious reasons—sufficient for the dispute over them to be continued, sir. I see this is all a childish and empty matter; tomorrow I will make inquiries of the most esteemed Fedosei Semyonovich, but now I beg you to spare me, sir.”

“See how the man is!” the youth cried out at once, unable to sustain the tone, hotly addressing Velchaninov. “It’s not enough that he’s chased away from there and they stick their tongues out at him—he also wants to denounce us tomorrow to the old man! Don’t you prove by that, you obstinate man, that you want to take the girl by force, buying her from people who have lost their minds, but, owing to social barbarism, have kept their power over her? She has shown well enough, it seems, that she despises you; wasn’t today’s indecent gift—your bracelet—returned to you? What more do you want?”

“No one returned any bracelet to me, and that cannot be,” Pavel Pavlovich gave a start.

“Cannot be? Didn’t Mr. Velchaninov give it to you?”

“Ah, devil take you!” thought Velchaninov.

“Indeed,” he said, frowning, “Nadezhda Fedoseevna entrusted me earlier with giving this case to you, Pavel Pavlovich. I didn’t want to take it, but she—insisted… here it is… quite annoying…”

He took out the case and, in embarrassment, placed it in front of the petrified Pavel Pavlovich.

“Why hadn’t you given it to him?” the young man sternly addressed Velchaninov.

“I hadn’t found time, one might think,” the latter frowned.

“That’s odd.”

“Wha-a-at?”

“It’s odd, to say the least, you must agree. However, I agree to allow that it was a misunderstanding.”

Velchaninov would have liked terribly to get up right then and box the boy’s ears, but he could not contain himself and suddenly snorted with laughter; the boy at once laughed himself. Not so Pavel Pavlovich; if Velchaninov could have noticed the terrible look he gave him when he burst out laughing at Lobov—he would have understood that at that moment the man was crossing a certain fatal line… But, though he did not see his look, Velchaninov understood that he had to support Pavel Pavlovich.

“Listen, Mr. Lobov,” he began in a friendly tone, “without going into a consideration of other reasons, which I do not wish to touch upon, I would merely like to point out to you that Pavel Pavlovich, after all, in proposing to Nadezhda Fedoseevna, is bringing to this respectable family—first, full information about himself; second, his excellent and respectable position; and finally, his fortune; and, consequently, he is of course surprised to see a rival such as you—a man of great merits, perhaps, but one still so young that he simply cannot take you as a serious rival… and is therefore right in asking you to finish.”

“What do you mean ‘so young’? I turned nineteen a month ago. Legally, I’ve been able to marry for a long time. There you have it.”

“But what father would venture to give his daughter to you now—though you may be a big future millionaire or some sort of future benefactor of mankind? At the age of nineteen a man can’t even answer for his own self, and you venture to take upon your conscience someone else’s future—that is, the future of a child like yourself! That’s also not entirely noble, do you think? I’ve allowed myself to speak out, because you addressed me earlier as a mediator between yourself and Pavel Pavlovich.”

“Ah, yes, incidentally, his name is Pavel Pavlovich!” the youth remarked. “Why did I keep imagining it was Vassily Petrovich? The thing is this, sir,” he turned to Velchaninov, “you haven’t surprised me in the least; I knew you were all the same! Strange, however, that I was told you were even something of a new man. Anyway, it’s all trifles, and the point is that there is nothing here that is not noble on my part, as you allowed yourself to put it, but even quite the contrary, which I hope to explain to you: we have, first of all, pledged ourselves to each other, and, besides that, I promised her directly, in front of two witnesses, that if she ever falls in love with another, or simply thinks better of having married me, and wants to divorce me, I will immediately give her a certificate of my own adultery—thus supporting, therewith, where necessary, her application for divorce. Moreover, in the event I should go back on my word later and refuse to give her this certificate, then, for her security, on the very day of our wedding I will give her a promissory note for a hundred thousand roubles in my name, so that, in the event I persist in refusing the certificate, she can immediately turn in my promissory note and have me double-trumped! In this way everything is provided for, and I’m not putting anyone’s future at risk. Well, sir, that’s the first thing.”