He was as smart and well-groomed and scented as ever, yet it seemed as if, on his face, his white jacket, and his hands, and even on his heart, there was a foul stain which became even greater.
“Bah! After a while it will all blow over. And it’s not the first time, either!” Thus he sought to soothe his conscience, but an inward voice refused to accept such consolation.
Volochine entered gingerly, his boots creaking loudly, and his discoloured teeth revealed by a condescending smile. The room was instantly filled with an odour of musk and of tobacco, quite overpowering the fresh scents of the garden.
“Ah! how do you do, Pavel Lvovitsch!” cried Sarudine as he hastily rose.
Volochine shook hands, sat down by the window and proceeded to light a cigar. He looked so elegant and self-possessed, that Sarudine felt somewhat envious, and endeavoured to assume an equally careless demeanour; but ever since Lida had flung the word “brute” in his face, he had felt ill at ease, as if every one had heard the insult and was secretly mocking him.
Volochine smiled, and chatted about various trifling matters. Yet he found it difficult to keep up such superficial conversation. “Woman” was the theme that he longed to approach, and it underlay all his stale jokes and stories of the strike at his St. Petersburg factory.
As he lighted another cigar he took the opportunity of looking hard at Sarudine. Their eyes met, and they instantly understood each other. Volochine adjusted his _pince-nez_ and smiled a smile that found its reflection In Sarudine’s face which suddenly acquired a look of lust.
“I don’t expect you waste much of your time, do you?” said Volochine, with a knowing wink.
“Oh! as for that, well, what else is there to do?” replied Sarudine, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
Then they both laughed, and for a while were silent. Volochine was eager to have details of the other’s conquests. A little vein just below his left knee throbbed convulsively. Sarudine, however, was not thinking of such piquant details, but of the distressing events of the last few days. He turned towards the garden and drummed with his fingers on the window-sill.
Yet Volochine was evidently waiting, and Sarudine felt that he must keep to the desired theme of conversation.