“Listen. Tell me the truth as a comrade,” said the Count, inclined to tenderness by the influence of the wine he had been drinking, and continuing to stroke Ilyín’s hair. “I have really grown fond of you. Tell the truth. If you have lost Government money I’ll save you: it will soon be too late.⁠ ⁠… Had you Government money?”

Ilyín sprang up from the sofa.

“Well then, if you wish me to tell you, don’t talk to me, because⁠ ⁠… and please don’t talk to me.⁠ ⁠… To shoot myself is the only thing!” said Ilyín, with real despair, and his head fell on his hands and he burst into tears, though but a moment before he had been calmly thinking about amblers.

“Oh, you beauteous maiden! Where’s the man who has not done the like? It’s not such calamity; perhaps we’ll make it up. You wait for me here.”

The Count left the room.

“Where is the squire Loúhnof’s room?” he asked the boots.