XXXIV
It was ten o'clock in the evening in the drawing-room of the mansion of Arzhano. Sipyagin, his wife, and Kallomyetsev were playing cards, when a footman came in and announced the arrival of a stranger, Mr. Paklin, who wanted to see Boris Andreitch on the most urgent and important business.
'So late!' wondered Valentina Mihalovna.
'Eh?' queried Boris Andreitch, wrinkling up his handsome nose. 'What did you say was the gentleman's name?'
'He said Paklin, sir.'
'Paklin!' cried Kallomyetsev. 'A truly rural name. Paklin' (i.e. stuffing) '. . . Solomin' (i.e. strawing) '. . .De vrais noms ruraux, hein?'
'And you say,' pursued Boris Andreitch, turning to the footman with the same expression of displeasure, 'that his business is important, urgent?'
'So the gentleman says, sir.'
'H'm . . . some beggar or swindler' ('Or both
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