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Updated: May 26, 2025
'And she loves him? he queried. 'She loves him.... Pasinkov looked down, and gazed a long while at the floor without moving. 'Well, it must be set right, he began, raising his head, things can't be left like this. And he took up his hat. 'Where are you going? 'To Asanov. I jumped up from the sofa. 'But I won't let you. Good heavens! how can you! what will he think? Pasinkov looked at me.
And so, I am bound to harden my heart and confess that.... My heart stood still.... Alas! I was myself in love with the girl who had written to Asanov, and I could have no doubt now that she loved him. The whole letter, which was in French, expressed tenderness and devotion....
Our host and the light-haired gentleman paid no attention to Asanov's last words; they were holding each other by their buttons, and both relating something; but I pricked up my ears. 'Oh, you 're bragging, Mr. nephew of an illustrious personage, I said, going up to Asanov; 'you haven't any letters at all.
I turned red. 'I should think I did! 'She was married, I suppose?... 'To Asanov, long, long ago. I wrote to you about it. 'To be sure, to be sure, so you did. Did her father forgive her in the end? 'He forgave her; but he would not receive Asanov. 'Obstinate old fellow! Well, and are they supposed to be happy? 'I don't know, really...I fancy they 're happy.
'What's this? is it true? ... he asked me. 'You read another man's letter? I had not the strength to answer, but I nodded in assent. Pasinkov went to the window, and standing with his back to me, said slowly: 'You read a letter from a girl to Asanov. Who was the girl? 'Sophia Zlotnitsky, I answered, as a prisoner on his trial answers the judge. For a long while Pasinkov did not utter a word.
I had been invited to dinner by one of my schoolfellows, who enjoyed in his youth the reputation of being as modest as a maiden, and turned out in the sequel a person by no means over rigid in his conduct. He is dead now, like most of my schoolfellows. There were to be present at the dinner, besides me, Konstantin Alexandrovitch Asanov, and a literary celebrity of those days.
Asanov turned upon me a look to which he obviously tried to impart an air of scornful penetration, pulled his moustaches, and got up slowly. 'I know now what to think, he observed; 'your face is the best evidence against you. But I must tell you that that's not the way honourable people behave.... To read a letter on the sly, and then to go and worry an honourable girl....
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