CHAPTER XIII
On Whose Side Most?
He might think about the red-haired girl, and yet his soul was in agonies of vexation and remorse. And, indeed, during the whole of that day, which seemed on the surface so amusingly spent, a feeling of acute depression had scarcely left him. Before singing the song he did not know how to get away from it; perhaps that was why he had sung it with such fervour.
"And I could demean myself like that . . . tear myself away from everything," he began reproaching himself, but he hurriedly cut short his thoughts. Indeed, it seemed to him humiliating to lament; it was a great deal more pleasant to be angry with some one.
"Fool!" he whispered wrathfully, with a side glance at the silent figure of Pavel Pavlovitch sitting beside him in the carriage.
Pavel Pavlovitch remained obstinately silent, perhaps concentrated on preparing what he had got to say. With an impatient gesture he sometimes took off his hat and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.
"Perspiring!" Velchaninov thought spitefully.
On one occasion only Pavel Pavlovitch addressed a question to the coachman. "Is there going to be a storm?" he asked.
"Storm, indeed! Not a doubt of it; it's been brewing up all day."
The sky was indeed growing dark and there were flashes of lightning in the distance.
They reached the town about half-past ten.
"I am coming in with you, of course," Pavel Pavlovitch warned him, not far from the house.
"I understand, but I must tell you that I feel seriously unwell."
"I won't stay, I won't stay long."
When they went in at the gate, Pavel Pavlovitch ran in at the porter's lodge to find Mavra.
"What were you running off there for?" Velchaninov said sternly, as the latter overtook him and they went into the room.
"Oh . . . nothing . . . the driver . . ."
