And he continued to walk up and down.

“Don’t yet feel sleepy, somehow,” repeated Pólozof, feeling, after this last evening, more than ever dissatisfied with the Count’s influence over him, and inclined to rebel against it. “I can imagine,” he said mentally, addressing Toúrbin, “what thoughts are now passing through that well-brushed head of yours! I saw how you admired her. But you are not capable of understanding such a simple, honest creature: you want a Mína and a colonel’s epaulets. I shall really ask him how he liked her.”

And Pólozof turned towards him⁠—but changed his mind. He felt he would not be able to hold his own with the Count if the latter’s opinion concerning Lisa were what he supposed it to be, and that he would even be unable not to agree with him, so used was he to bow to the Count’s influence, which he every day more and more felt to be oppressive and unjust.

“Where are you going?” he asked, when the Count put on his cap and went to the door.