"Well, anyway, I've had enough of you for to-day, haven't I?" Velchaninov brought out abruptly.
"More than enough, more!" Pavel Pavlovitch got up from his seat at once. "It’s four o'clock and, what's worse, I have so selfishly upset you. . . ."
"Listen, I will be sure to come and see you myself, and then, I hope. . . Tell me straight out, tell me frankly, you are not drunk to-day?"
"Drunk! Not a bit of it. . . ."
"Hadn't you been drinking, just before you came, or earlier?"
"Do you know, Alexey Ivanovitch, you're in a regular fever."
"I'll come and see you to-morrow morning before one o’clock."
"And I've been noticing for a long time that you seem, as it were, delirious," Pavel Pavlovitch interrupted with zest, still harping on the same subject. "I feel conscience-stricken, really, that by my awkwardness . . . but I’m going, I’m going! And you lie down and get some sleep!"
"Why, you haven’t told me where you’re living?" Velchaninov called hastily after him.
"Didn’t I tell you? At the Pokrovsky Hotel."
"What Pokrovsky Hotel?"
"Why, close to the Pokrovsky Church, close by, in the side street. I've forgotten the name of the street and I've forgotten the number, only it’s close by the Pokrovsky Church."
"I shall find it!"
"You’ll be very welcome."
He was by now on his way downstairs.
"Stay," Velchaninov shouted after him again; "you are not going to give me the slip?"
"How do you mean, give you the slip?" cried Pavel Pavlovitch, staring at him open-eyed and turning round to smile on the third step.
Instead of answering, Velchaninov shut the door with a loud slam, carefully locked it and fastened the hook. Returning to the room, he spat as though he had been in contact with something unclean.
After standing for some five minutes in the middle of the room, he flung himself on the bed without undressing and in one minute fell asleep. The forgotten candle burnt itself out on the table.
