Ordynov, on entering, threw a sidelong glance at Murin, over whose face at that moment there passed something like the malicious laugh which had marked it the night before. Ordynov shuddered. Almost instantly Murin’s expression lost its appearance of enmity, and resumed its impenetrable air as he saluted his lodger with a deferential bow.

This mute encounter gave Ordynov time to recover himself. The better to take in the situation he looked at Yaroslav llyitch, who, as yet, had by no means regained his composure.

“Welcome!” cried Yaroslav. “Welcome, my dearest friend, Vassilii Michaelovitch! Enlighten us with your presence, and set your seal upon the common objects in this room.” He pointed vaguely to a corner of the apartment, and then turned as red as a poppy—partly through confusion at his own awkwardness, and partly through displeasure at having murdered one of his choicest flowers of speech. With a sharp clatter he pushed forward another chair.

“I hope I am not putting you out at all?” said Ordynov. “I only wanted—er—to have two minutes’ conversation with you.”

“As long as you like!” cried Yaroslav. “How could you put me out, I should like to know? Have some tea, will you? Here, waiter!—You too will have another glassful,⁹ I hope?” he added to Murin, who at once accepted the offer.

“Three more glasses!” was the stern order to the waiter when he entered; after which Yaroslav seated himself beside Ordynov, and spent several minutes in rolling his head from side to side (from Murin to Ordynov, and from Ordynov to Murin) like a china dog. Certainly he was in a very awkward position. Though he felt that he ought to go on talking, what he wished to say only came with difficulty, and suitable words failed him. For his part, Ordynov seemed once more to have sunk into a stupor. At length the pair of them began to speak at the same moment; whereupon the hitherto silent Murin, who had been observing them with some curiosity, exploded in a laugh which disclosed all his teeth.

“I came to tell you,” said Ordynov to the old man, “that unfortunate circumstances compel me to give you notice.”

“What a strange coincidence!” put in Yaroslav Ilyitch. “Why, I too was surprised, this morning, to hear this good gentleman acquaint me with your decision.”

“To hear him acquaint you?” re-echoed Ordynov, with a stare of astonishment at Murin. The latter only stroked his beard, the better to be able to laugh in his sleeve.

“Yes,” continued Yaroslav. “For the rest, I may be wrong, but I ought to tell you frankly—indeed, I give you my word of honour on the point—that, so far as I know, this most estimable gentleman has said not a word to your discredit.”

Again Yaroslav reddened as he mastered his confusion with an effort. Murin—who now, doubtless, had laughed his fill—saw good at this point to put in his oar.

“Yes, your nobility,” he began, with a polite bow to Ordynov, “it is true that we have been talking of you. You yourself cannot fail to know that I and my ward would have been only too glad for things to continue as they have hitherto been, and that never a word would have occurred between you and ourselves. But you know my way of life, for you have seen something of it; and what all of us ask of heaven is, above all things, to be left to live in peace. Judge for yourself, sir. Am I to go down on my knees to you, and to beseech you with tears? What else could we do?”