“Where have you dropped from?” cried the prince.
“He is sorry for his sins now, prince,” cried Keller. “He did not want to let you know he was here; he was hidden over there in the corner—but he repents now, he feels his guilt.”
“Why, what has he done?”
“I met him outside and brought him in—he’s a gentleman who doesn’t often allow his friends to see him, of late—but he’s sorry now.”
“Delighted, I’m sure!—I’ll come back directly, gentlemen—sit down there with the others, please—excuse me one moment,” said the host, getting away with difficulty in order to follow Evgenie.
“You are very gay here,” began the latter, “and I have had quite a pleasant half-hour while I waited for you. Now then, my dear Lef Nicolaievitch, this is what’s the matter. I’ve arranged it all with Moloftsoff, and have just come in to relieve your mind on that score. You need be under no apprehensions. He was very sensible, as he should be, of course, for I think he was entirely to blame himself.”
“What Moloftsoff?”
“The young fellow whose arms you held, don’t you know? He was so wild with you that he was going to send a friend to you tomorrow morning.”
“What nonsense!”
“Of course it is nonsense, and in nonsense it would have ended, doubtless; but you know these fellows, they—”
“Excuse me, but I think you must have something else that you wished to speak about, Evgenie Pavlovitch?”