Honour and glory to you, charming creature! Come, you can go!"
And with renewed courage he looked impudently at Velchaninov again.
"Confess," he chuckled suddenly, "that all this is very interesting and by no means 'absolutely nothing to you,' as you were pleased to declare; so much so that you would be disappointed if I were to get up this minute and go away without explaining myself."
"I really shouldn't be disappointed."
"Oh, that's a lie!" was what Pavel Pavlovitch's smile expressed.
"Well, let's come to business!" And he filled his glass.
"Let's drink," he pronounced, taking up the glass, "to the health of our friend departed in God, Stepan Mihaloviteh."
He raised his glass, and drank it,
"I’m not going to drink such a health," said Velchaninov, putting down his glass.
"Why not? It's a pleasant toast,"
"I say, weren't you drunk when you came in just now?"
"I had had a little. But why?"
"Nothing particular, but I thought last night, and this morning still more, that you were genuinely grieved at the loss of Natalya Vassilyevna."
"And who told you that I'm not genuinely grieved at the loss of her now?" Pavel Pavlovitch bounced out again, exactly as though he were worked by springs.
"And I didn't mean that; but you must admit that you may be mistaken about Stepan Mihalovitch, and it is—a grave matter."
Pavel Pavlovitch smiled craftily and winked.
"And wouldn't you like to know how I found out about Stepan Mihalovitch?" I Velchaninov flushed.
"I tell you again that it's nothing to me." "Hadn't I better chuck him out this minute, bottle and all?" he thought furiously, and he flushed a deeper crimson.
"That's all right!" said Pavel Pavlovitch, as though trying to encourage him, and he poured himself out another glass.
"I will explain at once how I found out all about it, and so gratify your ardent desire . . . for you are an ardent man,
