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.
'Nothing but passion could to some extent excuse you,' he began at
last. 'Are you in love then with the younger Zlotnitsky?'
'Yes.'
Pasinkov was silent again for a little.
'I thought so. And you went to her to-day and began reproaching
her?...'
'Yes, yes, yes!...' I articulated desperately. 'Now you can despise
me....'
Pasinkov walked a couple of times up and down the room.
'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.'