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Updated: May 20, 2025
When they reached Borsionkov they had some supper, merely for the sake of politeness, and afterwards lighted cigars and began a discussion, one of those interminable, midnight Russian discussions which in degree and length are only peculiar to Russians and unequalled by people of any other nationality. During the discussion, too, Solomin did not come up to Nejdanov's expectation.
I wanted to see her too..." Mariana turned to the door. A peculiar expression of fear, despair, spread itself over Nejdanov's face. "Mariana, you're not going?" he asked in a frightened tone of voice. She stood still. "I'll be back in half an hour. It won't take me long to pack." "Come here, close to me, Mariana." "Certainly, but what for?" "I wanted to have one more look at you."
The earth seemed reeling under Nejdanov's feet, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as though coming from a long way off... Was it death or what?
The next day Sipiagin noticed Nejdanov's advertisement in the paper and went to see him. "My name is Sipiagin," he repeated, as he sat in front of Nejdanov, surveying him with a dignified air. "I see by your advertisement that you are looking for a post, and I should like to know if you would be willing to come to me. I am married and have a boy of eight, a very intelligent child, I may say.
We already know that Nejdanov's father was Prince G., a rich adjutant-general. His mother was the daughter of the general's governess, a pretty girl who died on the day of Nejdanov's birth. He received his early education in a boarding school kept by a certain Swiss, a very energetic and severe pedagogue, after which he entered the university.
The letter was dated two days before Nejdanov's death, from which might be gathered that Solomin had considered it necessary even then to go away with him and Mariana and hide for a time. Nothing was revealed by the inquiry held over the suicide. The body was buried. Sipiagin gave up searching for his niece. Nine months later Markelov was tried.
Thus Nejdanov thought, and he did not himself suspect how much truth and how much falsehood there lay in his reflections. He found Markelov in the same weary, sullen frame of mind. After a very impromptu dinner they set out in the well-known carriage to the merchant Falyeva's cotton factory where Solomin lived. Nejdanov's curiosity had been aroused.
Nejdanov's intemperate words, for which only his extreme youth could be blamed, he could not, on the other, agree with Mr. Kollomietzev's embittered attack on people of an opposite camp, an attack, he felt sure, that was only due to an over-amount of zeal for the general welfare of society.
"What a wonderful person he is!" "Yes, he certainly is wonderful. And should you want to marry Alexai, he will arrange that too with Zosim, the priest. You remember I told you about him. But perhaps it is not necessary as yet, eh?" "No, not yet." "Very well." Solomin went up to the door dividing the two rooms, Mariana's and Nejdanov's, and examined the lock. "What are you doing?" Mariana asked.
She walked away to the window while Pavel, who instantly understood her, carefully covered Nejdanov's legs with the skirts of his coat, put a pillow under his head, and observing once again, "It's nothing," went out on tiptoe. Mariana looked round. Nejdanov's head was buried in the pillow and on his pale face there was an expression of fixed intensity as on the face of one dangerously ill.
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