He went into the hotel unobserved by the porter, ascended the staircase, not meeting any one, and without knocking at the door, he mechanically pushed it open and went into the room.
In the room, in the same armchair, in the same dress, in precisely the same attitude as three hours before, was sitting Irina. . . . It was obvious that she had not moved from the place, had not stirred all that time. She slowly raised her head, and seeing Litvinov, she trembled all over and clutched the arm of the chair. 'You frightened me,' she whispered.
Litvinov looked at her with speechless bewilderment. The expression of her face, her lustreless eyes, astounded him.
Irina gave a forced smile and smoothed her ruffled hair. ' Never mind. . . . I really don't know. . . . I think I must have fallen asleep here.'
'I beg your pardon, Irina Pavlovna,' began Litvinov. 'I came in unannounced. . . . I wanted to do what you thought fit to require of me. So as I am going away to-day——'
'To-day? But I thought you told me that you meant first to write a letter——'
'I have sent a telegram.'
'Ah ! you found it necessary to make haste. And when are you going? What time, I mean?'