I was about to reply, but Tarhov again clutched my hands, and again began talking in a hurried voice. 'Though . . . of course . . . I confess you are right, a thousand times right. . . . You are a true friend . . . but now leave me alone, please.'
I was puzzled. 'Leave you alone?'
'Yes. I must, don't you see, think over all you've just said, thoroughly. . . . I have no doubt you are right . . . but now leave me alone!'
'You 're in such a state of excitement . . .' I was beginning.
'Excitement? I?' Tarhov laughed, but instantly pulled himself up. 'Yes, of course I am. How could I help being? You say yourself it's no joking matter. Yes; I must think about it . . . alone.' He was still squeezing my hands. 'Good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye!'
'Good-bye,' I repeated. 'Good-bye, old boy!' As I was going away I flung a last glance at Tarhov. He seemed pleased. At what? At the fact that I, like a true friend and comrade, had pointed out the danger of the way upon which he had set his foot—or that I was going? Ideas of the most diverse kind were floating in my head the whole day till evening—till the very instant when I entered the house occupied by Punin and Baburin, for I went to see them the same day. I am bound to confess that some of Tarhov's phrases had
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