Passers-by stopped and stared. Sarudine instantly shut his eyes in
shame and despair. The drive seemed endless. "Faster! faster!" he
thought anxiously. Then, however, he pictured to himself the faces of
his man-servant, of his landlady, and of the neighbours, which made him
wish that the journey might never end. Just to drive on, drive on,
anywhere, like that, with eyes closed!

Tanaroff was horribly ashamed of this procession. Very red and
confused, he looked straight in front of him, and strove to give
onlookers the impression that he had nothing whatever to do with the
affair.

At first he professed to sympathize with Sarudine, but soon relapsed
into silence, occasionally through his clenched teeth urging the
coachman to drive quicker. From this, as also from the irresolute
support of his arm, which at times almost pushed him away, Sarudine
knew exactly what Tanaroff felt. It was this knowledge that a man whom
he held to be so absolutely his inferior should feel ashamed of him,
which convinced Sarudine that all was now at an end.

He could not cross the courtyard without assistance. Tanaroff and the
scared, trembling orderly almost had to carry him. If there were other
onlookers, Sarudine did not see them. They made up a bed for him on the
sofa and stood there, helpless and irresolute. This irritated him
intensely. At last, recovering himself, the servant fetched some hot
water and a towel, and carefully washed the blood from Sarudine's face
and hands. His master avoided his glance, but in the soldier's eyes
there was nothing malicious or scornful; only such fear and pity as
some kind-hearted old nurse might feel.