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Platonov had, in fact, understood. Jennie was telling with indignation that during this day and night, thanks to the influx of a cheap public, the unhappy Pashka had been taken into a room more than ten times and all by different men. Only just now she had had a hysterical fit, ending in a faint.
Platonov came to her aid: "Don't be embarrassed, my dear Jennie, tell all there is! For you know that I'm like one of the family, and will never give you away. And perhaps I may really give you some worth-while advice. Well, dive off with a splash into the water begin!" "That's just it, I don't know how to begin," said Jennka irresolutely.
And again was Platonov struck by the sombre fire in her deep eyes, that seemed fallen in underneath the dark eyebrows, formidably contracted downward, toward the bridge of the nose. "I'll put out the candles," said Lichonin. The morning half-light, watery and drowsy, filled the room through the slits of the blinds. The extinguished wicks of the candles smoked with faint streams.
"Don't know," answered Platonov, dully and downcast; but he paled, and his fingers underneath the table convulsively clenched into fists, "Perhaps I would kill him..." "Not 'perhaps, but certainly! I know you, I sense you.
Is there, now, as they tell us, a paradise or hell? Is that the truth? Or is there just nothing at all? A barren void? A sleep without a dream? A dark basement?" Platonov kept silent, trying not to look at Jennka. He felt oppressed and frightened. "I don't know," said he, finally, with an effort. "I don't want to lie to you." Jennka sighed, and smiled with a pitiful, twisted smile.
"Well, thanks, my dear. And thanks for even that much ... I wish you happiness. With all my soul. Well, good-bye..." She turned away from him and began slowly, with a wavering walk, to climb up the hill. Platonov returned to work just in the nick of time. The gathering of tramps, scratching, yawning, working out their accustomed dislocations, were getting into their places.
But in their petty, monotonous, habitually frivolous life there was, in general, a great deal of semi-puerile, semi-hysterical play. Simeon brought a coffee pot, cups, a squatty bottle of Benedictine, fruits and bon-bons in glass vases, and gaily and easily began making the corks of the beer and wine pop. "But why don't you drink?" Yarchenko turned to the reporter Platonov.
"Wait a while, I've recalled it...This was that day I was there together with the students...isn't that so?" "That's right, Sergei Ivanovich, that's so..." "Ah, Jennka," said Platonov reproachfully and with regret. "For do you know, that after this two of the students got sick...Wasn't it from you?" Jennka wrathfully and disdainfully flashed her eyes. "Perhaps even from me...How should I know?
"Which one of you here is Platonov?" he asked, quickly running over them with his thievish eyes. "I'm Platonov, and by what name do they tease you?" "Around the corner here, behind the church, some sort of a young lady is waiting for you...Here's a note for you." The whole gang neighed deeply. "What d'you open up your mouths for, you pack of fools!" said Platonov calmly. "Give me the note here."
"I don't know, Jennechka!" quietly pronounced Platonov. "Not that I fear telling you, or advising you, but I know absolutely nothing. This is above my reason... above conscience..." Jennie crossed her fingers and nervously cracked them. "And I, too, don't know...Therefore, that which I thought is not the truth.
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