The prince cleared his throat, and began to fidget as though he were at a loss what to add further. Litvinov took his hat, and saying he did not want to disturb him, and would call again later to inquire after her health, he went away. A few steps from the Osinins’ house he saw an elegant carriage for two persons standing before the police sentry-box. A groom in livery, equally elegant, was bending negligently from the box, and inquiring of the Finnish police-sergeant whereabouts Prince Pavel Vassilyevitch Osinin lived. Litvinov glanced at the carriage; in it sat a middle-aged man of bloated complexion, with a wrinkled and haughty face, a Greek nose, and an evil mouth, muffled in a sable wrap, by all outward signs a very great man indeed. IX Litvinov did not keep his promise of returning later; he reflected that it would be better to defer his visit till the following day. When he went into the too familiar drawing-room at about twelve o’clock, he found there the two youngest princesses, Viktorinka and Kleopatrinka. He greeted them, and then inquired, ‘Was Irina Pavlovna better, and could he see her?’ ‘Irinotchka has gone away with mammy,’ replied Viktorinka; she lisped a little, but was more forward than her sister. ‘How ... gone away?’ repeated Litvinov, and there was a sort of still shudder in the very bottom of his heart. ‘Does she not, does she not look after you about this time, and give you your lessons?’ ‘Irinotchka will not give us any lessons any more now,’ answered Viktorinka. ‘Not any more now,’ Kleopatrinka repeated after her. ‘Is your papa at home?’ asked Litvinov. ‘Papa is not at home,’ continued Viktorinka, ‘and Irinotchka is not well; all night long she was crying and crying....’ ‘Crying?’ ‘Yes, crying ... Yegorovna told me, and her eyes are so red, they are quite in-inflamed....’ Litvinov walked twice up and down the room shuddering as though with cold, and went back to his lodging. He experienced a sensation like that which gains possession of a man when he looks down from a high tower; everything failed within him, and his head was swimming slowly with a sense of nausea. Dull stupefaction, and thoughts scurrying like mice, vague terror, and the numbness of expectation, and curiosity--strange, almost malignant--and the weight of crushed tears in his heavy laden breast, on his lips the forced empty smile, and a meaningless prayer--addressed to no one.... Oh, how bitter it all was, and how hideously degrading! ‘Irina does not want to see me,’ was the thought that was incessantly revolving in his brain; ‘so much is clear; but why is it? What can have happened at that ill-fated ball? And how is such a change possible all at once? So suddenly....’ People always see death coming suddenly, but they can never get accustomed to its suddenness, they feel it senseless. ‘She sends no message for me, does not want to explain herself to me....’ ‘Grigory Mihalitch,’ called a strained voice positively in his ear.