For about ten minutes neither Sipiagin nor Paklin pronounced a single word.The unfortunate Sila, in his shabby little coat and crumpled cap, looked even more wretched than usual in contrast to the rich background of dark blue silk with which the carriage was upholstered.He looked around in silence at the delicate pale blue blinds, which flew up instantly at the mere press of a button, at the soft white sheep-skin rug at their feet, at the mahogany box in front with a movable desk for letters and even a shelf for books.(Boris Andraevitch never worked in his carriage, but he liked people to think that he did, after the manner of Thiers, who always worked when travelling.) Paklin felt shy.
Sipiagin glanced at him once or twice over his clean-shaven cheek, and with a pompous deliberation pulled out of a side-pocket a silver cigar-case with a curly monogram and a Slavonic band and offered him...really offered him a cigar, holding it gently between the second and third fingers of a hand neatly clad in an English glove of yellow dogskin.
"I don't smoke," Paklin muttered.
"Really!" Sipiagin exclaimed and lighted the cigar himself, an excellent regalia.
"I must tell you...my dear Mr.Paklin," he began, puffing gracefully at his cigar and sending out delicate rings of delicious smoke, "that I am...really...very grateful to you.I might have...seemed...a little severe...last night...which does not really...do justice to my character...believe me." (Sipiagin purposely hesitated over his speech.) "But just put yourself in my place, Mr.Paklin!"(Sipiagin rolled the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.) "The position I occupy places me...so to speak...
before the public eye, and suddenly, without any warning...my wife's brother...compromises himself...and me, in this impossible way! Well, Mr.Paklin? But perhaps you think that it's nothing?""I am far from thinking that, your excellency.""You don't happen to know exactly why...and where he was arrested?""I heard that he was arrested in T.district.""Who told you so?"
"A certain person."
"Of course it could hardly have been a bird.But who was this person?""An assistant...of the director of the governor's office--""What's his name?"
"The director's?"
No, the assistant's."
"His name is...Ulyashevitch.He is a very honest man, your excellency.As soon as I heard of the affair, I hastened to tell you.""Yes, yes.I am very grateful to you indeed.But what utter madness! downright madness! Don't you think so, Mr.Paklin?""Utter madness!" Paklin exclaimed, while the perspiration rolled down his back in a hot stream."it just shows," he continued, "the folly of not understanding the peasant.Mr.Markelov, so far as I know him, has a very kind and generous heart, but he has no conception of what the Russian peasant is really like." (Paklin glanced at Sipiagin who sat slightly turned towards him, gazing at him with a cold, though not unfriendly, light in his eyes.)"The Russian peasant can never be induced to revolt except by taking advantage of that devotion of his to some high authority, some tsar.Some sort of legend must be invented--you remember Dmitrius the pretender--some sort of royal sign must be shown him, branded on the breast.""Just like Pugatchev," Sipiagin interrupted him in a tone of voice which seemed to imply that he had not yet forgotten his history and that it was really not necessary for Paklin to go on.
"What madness! what madness! "he added, and became wrapped in the contemplation of the rings of smoke as they rose quickly one after another from the end of his cigar.
