Ostrodumov hummed. He did not believe him. "Who knows? He's such
a busy body," he thought.

"There he is at last!" Mashurina exclaimed suddenly, and her
small unattractive eyes, fixed on the door, brightened, as if lit
up by an inner ray, making them soft and warm and tender.

The door opened, and this time a young man of twenty-three, with
a cap on his head and a bundle of books under his arm, entered
the room. It was Nejdanov himself.

II

AT the sight of visitors he stopped in the doorway, took them in
at a glance, threw off his cap, dropped the books on to the
floor, walked over to the bed, and sat down on the very edge. An
expression of annoyance and displeasure passed over his pale
handsome face, which seemed even paler than it really was, in
contrast to his dark-red, wavy hair.

Mashurina turned away and bit her lip; Ostrodumov muttered, "At
last!"

Paklin was the first to approach him.

"Why, what is the matter, Alexai Dmitritch, Hamlet of Russia? Has
something happened, or are you just simply depressed, without any
particular cause?