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She told him that Ostrodumov had gone away on business, in connection with the cause, and would not be back for about a fortnight, and that their host had gone to look after his peasants.
Neither of them showed the least astonishment when Nejdanov came in, knowing beforehand that Markelov had intended bringing him back, but Nejdanov was very much surprised on seeing them. On his entrance Ostrodumov merely muttered "Good evening," whilst Mashurina turned scarlet and extended her hand. Markelov began to explain that they had come from St.
Ostrodumov looked concentrated and business-like, Nejdanov furious, Paklin intense, and Mashurina as if she were present at holy mass. About two minutes went by in this way, everyone feeling uncomfortable. Paklin was the first to break the silence. "Well?" he began. "Is my sacrifice to be received on the altar of the fatherland?
There was something similar about these two smokers, although their features were not a bit alike. "Have you seen Nejdanov?" Ostrodumov asked. "Yes. He will be back directly. He has gone to the library with some books." Ostrodumov spat to one side. "Why is he always rushing about nowadays? One can never get hold of him." Mashurina took out another cigarette.
THE guests turned out to be no other than our old friends Mashurina and Ostrodumov. They were both sitting in the poorly-furnished drawing room of Markelov's house, smoking and drinking beer by the light of a kerosene lamp.
But his guilt could not possibly be passed over; he could not escape punishment, and he himself seemed to look upon it as his due. Of his few accomplices, Mashurina disappeared for a time. Ostrodumov was killed by a shopkeeper he was inciting to revolt, who had struck him an "awkward" blow.
"A long way from here." "And where is Ostrodumov? Is he with you?" "No, but he's quite near. Got stuck on the way. He'll be here when he's wanted. Pemien can look after himself. There is no need to worry about him." "How did you get here?" "In a cart of course. How else could I have come? Give me another match, please." Solomin gave her a light. "Vassily Fedotitch!"
"All the same," Ostrodumov remarked, "I am not in the least sorry for the young people who run after Skoropikin." "You are hopeless," Paklin thought. "I had better be going." Paklin had already taken up his hat, when suddenly, without the slightest warning, a wonderfully pleasant, manly baritone was heard from the passage.
"It is not for us to sit in judgment upon him!" "Quite so; only he might have had a little more consideration for others, who are likely to be compromised through him now." "What makes you think so?" Ostrodumov bawled out in his turn. "Basanov has plenty of character, he will not betray anyone. Besides, not every one can be cautious you know, Mr. Paklin."
"Why not with you?" almost escaped Paklin's lips. "I should like to see him, because I have an important matter to talk over with him," he said aloud. "What about?" Ostrodumov asked. "Our affairs?" "Perhaps yours; that is, our common affairs." Ostrodumov hummed. He did not believe him. "Who knows? He's such a busy body," he thought. "There he is at last!"
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