“Well!⁠ ⁠…” said the old count, spreading out his arms and sinking helplessly on the sofa.

“It can’t be helped! It happens to everyone!” said the son, with a bold, free, and easy tone, while in his soul he regarded himself as a worthless scoundrel whose whole life could not atone for his crime. He longed to kiss his father’s hands and kneel to beg his forgiveness, but said, in a careless and even rude voice, that it happens to everyone!

The old count cast down his eyes on hearing his son’s words and began bustlingly searching for something.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered, “it will be difficult, I fear, difficult to raise⁠ ⁠… happens to everybody! Yes, who has not done it?”

And with a furtive glance at his son’s face, the count went out of the room.⁠ ⁠… Nikoláy had been prepared for resistance, but had not at all expected this.