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Chapter 7 The First and Rightful Lover

  • WITH his long, rapid strides, Mitya walked straight up to the table.
  • "Gentlemen," he said in a loud voice, almost shouting, yet stammering at ever_ord, "I… I'm all right! Don't be afraid!" he exclaimed, "I- there's nothin_he matter," he turned suddenly to Grushenka, who had shrunk back in her chai_owards Kalganov, and clasped his hand tightly. "I… I'm coming, too. I'm her_ill morning. Gentlemen, may I stay with you till morning? Only till morning, for the last time, in this same room?"
  • So he finished, turning to the fat little man, with the pipe, sitting on th_ofa. The latter removed his pipe from his lips with dignity and observe_everely:
  • "Panie,* we're here in private. There are other rooms."
  • * Pan and Panie mean Mr. in Polish. Pani means Mrs., Panovie, gentlemen.
  • "Why, it's you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch! What do you mean?" answered Kalgono_uddenly. "Sit down with us. How are you?"
  • "Delighted to see you, dear… and precious fellow, I always thought a lot o_ou." Mitya responded, joyfully and eagerly, at once holding out his han_cross the table.
  • "Aie! How tight you squeeze! You've quite broken my fingers," laughe_alganov.
  • "He always squeezes like that, always," Grushenka put in gaily, with a timi_mile, seeming suddenly convinced from Mitya's face that he was not going t_ake a scene. She was watching him with intense curiosity and still som_neasiness. She was impressed by something about him, and indeed the las_hing she expected of him was that he would come in and speak like this a_uch a moment.
  • "Good evening," Maximov ventured blandly on the left. Mitya rushed up to him, too.
  • "Good evening. You're here, too! How glad I am to find you here, too!
  • Gentlemen, gentlemen, I- " (He addressed the Polish gentleman with the pip_gain, evidently taking him for the most important person present.) "I fle_ere… . I wanted to spend my last day, my last hour in this room, in this ver_oom … where I, too, adored… my queen… . Forgive me, Panie," he cried wildly,
  • "I flew here and vowed- Oh, don't be afraid, it's my last night! Let's drin_o our good understanding. They'll bring the wine at once… . I brought thi_ith me." (Something made him pull out his bundle of notes.) "Allow me, panie!
  • I want to have music, singing, a revel, as we had before. But the worm, th_nnecessary worm, will crawl away, and there'll be no more of him. I wil_ommemorate my day of joy on my last night."
  • He was almost choking. There was so much, so much he wanted to say, bu_trange exclamations were all that came from his lips. The Pole gazed fixedl_t him, at the bundle of notes in his hand; looked at Grushenka, and was i_vident perplexity.
  • "If my suverin lady is permitting- " he was beginning.
  • "What does 'suverin' mean? 'Sovereign,' I suppose?" interrupted Grushenka. "_an't help laughing at you, the way you talk. Sit down, Mitya, what are yo_alking about? Don't frighten us, please. You won't frighten us, will you? I_ou won't, I am glad to see you… "
  • "Me, me frighten you?" cried Mitya, flinging up his hands. "Oh, pass me by, g_our way, I won't hinder you!… "
  • And suddenly he surprised them all, and no doubt himself as well, by flingin_imself on a chair, and bursting into tears, turning his head away to th_pposite wall, while his arms clasped the back of the chair tight, as thoug_mbracing it.
  • "Come, come, what a fellow you are!" cried Grushenka reproachfully. "That'_ust how he comes to see me- he begins talking, and I can't make out what h_eans. He cried like that once before, and now he's crying again! It'_hamefull Why are you crying? As though you had anything to cry for!" sh_dded enigmatically, emphasising each word with some irritability.
  • "I… I'm not crying… . Well, good evening!" He instantly turned round in hi_hair, and suddenly laughed, not his abrupt wooden laugh, but a long, quivering, inaudible nervous laugh.
  • "Well, there you are again… . Come, cheer up, cheer up!" Grushenka said to hi_ersuasively. "I'm very glad you've come, very glad, Mitya, do you hear, I'_ery glad! I want him to stay here with us," she said peremptorily, addressin_he whole company, though her words were obviously meant for the man sittin_n the sofa. "I wish it, I wish it! And if he goes away I shall go, too!" sh_dded with flashing eyes.
  • "What my queen commands is law!" pronounced the Pole, gallantly kissin_rushenka's hand. "I beg you, panie, to join our company," he added politely, addressing Mitya.
  • Mitya was jumping up with the obvious intention of delivering another tirade, but the words did not come.
  • "Let's drink, Panie," he blurted out instead of making a speech. Everyon_aughed.
  • "Good heavens! I thought he was going to begin again!" Grushenka exclaime_ervously. "Do you hear, Mitya," she went on insistently, "don't prance about, but it's nice you've brought the champagne. I want some myself, and I can'_ear liqueurs. And best of all, you've come yourself. We were fearfully dul_ere… . You've come for a spree again, I suppose? But put your money in you_ocket. Where did you get such a lot?"
  • Mitya had been, all this time, holding in his hand the crumpled bundle o_otes on which the eyes of all, especially of the Poles, were fixed. I_onfusion he thrust them hurriedly into his pocket. He flushed. At that momen_he innkeeper brought in an uncorked bottle of champagne, and glasses on _ray. Mitya snatched up the bottle, but he was so bewildered that he did no_now what to do with it. Kalgonov took it from him and poured out th_hampagne.
  • "Another! Another bottle!" Mitya cried to the inn-keeper, and, forgetting t_link glasses with the Pole whom he had so solemnly invited to drink to thei_ood understanding, he drank off his glass without waiting for anyone else.
  • His whole countenance suddenly changed. The solemn and tragic expression wit_hich he had entered vanished completely, and a look of something childlik_ame into his face. He seemed to have become suddenly gentle and subdued. H_ooked shyly and happily at everyone, with a continual nervous little laugh, and the blissful expression of a dog who has done wrong, been punished, an_orgiven. He seemed to have forgotten everything, and was looking round a_veryone with a childlike smile of delight. He looked at Grushenka, laughin_ontinually, and bringing his chair close up to her. By degrees he had gaine_ome idea of the two Poles, though he had formed no definite conception o_hem yet.
  • The Pole on the sofa struck him by his dignified demeanour and his Polis_ccent; and, above all, by his pipe. "Well, what of it? It's a good thing he'_moking a pipe," he reflected. The Pole's puffy, middle-aged face, with it_iny nose and two very thin, pointed, dyed and impudent-looking moustaches, had not so far roused the faintest doubts in Mitya. He was not eve_articularly struck by the Pole's absurd wig made in Siberia, with love-lock_oolishly combed forward over the temples. "I suppose it's all right since h_ears a wig," he went on, musing blissfully. The other, younger Pole, who wa_taring insolently and defiantly at the company and listening to th_onversation with silent contempt, still only impressed Mitya by his grea_eight, which was in striking contrast to the Pole on the sofa. "If he stoo_p he'd be six foot three." The thought flitted through Mitya's mind. I_ccurred to him, too, that this Pole must be the friend of the other, as i_ere, a "bodyguard," and no doubt the big Pole was at the disposal of th_ittle Pole with the pipe. But this all seemed to Mitya perfectly right an_ot to be questioned. In his mood of doglike submissiveness all feeling o_ivalry had died away.
  • Grushenka's mood and the enigmatic tone of some of her words he completel_ailed to grasp. All he understood, with thrilling heart, was that she wa_ind to him, that she had forgiven him, and made him sit by her. He was besid_imself with delight, watching her sip her glass of champagne. The silence o_he company seemed somehow to strike him, however, and he looked round a_veryone with expectant eyes.
  • "Why are we sitting here though, gentlemen? Why don't you begin doin_omething?" his smiling eyes seemed to ask.
  • "He keeps talking nonsense, and we were all laughing," Kalgonov bega_uddenly, as though divining his thought, and pointing to Maximov.
  • Mitya immediately stared at Kalgonov and then at Maximov
  • "He's talking nonsense?" he laughed, his short, wooden laugh, seeming suddenl_elighted at something- "ha ha!"
  • "Yes. Would you believe it, he will have it that all our cavalry officers i_he twenties married Polish women. That's awful rot, isn't it?"
  • "Polish women?" repeated Mitya, perfectly ecstatic.
  • Kalgonov was well aware of Mitya's attitude to Grushenka, and he guessed abou_he Pole, too, but that did not so much interest him, perhaps did not interes_im at all; what he was interested in was Maximov. He had come here wit_aximov by chance, and he met the Poles here at the inn for the first time i_is life. Grushenka he knew before, and had once been with someone to see her; but she had not taken to him. But here she looked at him very affectionately: before Mitya's arrival, she had been making much of him, but he seemed someho_o be unmoved by it. He was a boy, not over twenty, dressed like a dandy, wit_ very charming fair-skinned face, and splendid thick, fair hair. From hi_air face looked out beautiful pale blue eyes, with an intelligent an_ometimes even deep expression, beyond his age indeed, although the young ma_ometimes looked and talked quite like a child, and was not at all ashamed o_t, even when he was aware of it himself. As a rule he was very wilful, eve_apricious, though always friendly. Sometimes there was something fixed an_bstinate in his expression. He would look at you and listen, seeming all th_hile to be persistently dreaming over something else. Often he was listles_nd lazy; at other times he would grow excited, sometimes, apparently, ove_he most trivial matters.
  • "Only imagine, I've been taking him about with me for the last four days," h_ent on, indolently drawling his words, quite naturally though, without th_lightest affectation. "Ever since your brother, do you remember, shoved hi_ff the carriage and sent him flying. That made me take an interest in him a_he time, and I took him into the country, but he keeps talking such rot I'_shamed to be with him. I'm taking him back."
  • "The gentleman has not seen Polish ladies, and says what is impossible," th_ole with the pipe observed to Maximov.
  • He spoke Russian fairly well, much better, anyway, than he pretended. If h_sed Russian words, he always distorted them into a Polish form.
  • "But I was married to a Polish lady myself," tittered Maximov.
  • "But did you serve in the cavalry? You were talking about the cavalry. Wer_ou a cavalry officer?" put in Kalgonov at once.
  • "Was he a cavalry officer indeed? Ha ha!" cried Mitya, listening eagerly, an_urning his inquiring eyes to each as he spoke, as though there were n_nowing what he might hear from each.
  • "No, you see," Maximov turned to him. "What I mean is that those pretty Polis_adies … when they danced the mazurka with our Uhlans… when one of them dance_ mazurka with a Uhlan she jumps on his knee like a kitten… a little whit_ne… and the pan-father and pan-mother look on and allow it… They allow it… and next day the Uhlan comes and offers her his hand… . That's how it is… offers her his hand, he he!" Maximov ended, tittering.
  • "The pan is a lajdak!"* the tall Pole on the chair growled suddenly an_rossed one leg over the other. Mitya's eye was caught by his huge grease_oot, with its thick, dirty sole. The dress of both the Poles looked rathe_reasy.
  • * Scoundrel.
  • "Well, now it's lajdak! What's he scolding about?" said Grushenka, suddenl_exed.
  • "Pani Agrippina, what the gentleman saw in Poland were servant girls, and no_adies of good birth," the Pole with the pipe observed to Grushenka.
  • "You can reckon on that," the tall Pole snapped contemptuously.
  • "What next! Let him talk! People talk, why hinder them? It makes it cheerful,"
  • Grushenka said crossly.
  • "I'm not hindering them, pani," said the Pole in the wig, with a long look a_rushenka, and relapsing into dignified silence he sucked his pipe again.
  • "No, no. The Polish gentleman spoke the truth." Kalgonov got excited again, a_hough it were a question of vast import. "He's never been in Poland, so ho_an he talk about it? I suppose you weren't married in Poland, were you?"
  • "No, in the Province of Smolensk. Only, a Uhlan had brought her to Russi_efore that, my future wife, with her mamma and her aunt, and another femal_elation with a grown-up son. He brought her straight from Poland and gave he_p to me. He was a lieutenant in our regiment, a very nice young man. At firs_e meant to marry her himself. But he didn't marry her, because she turned ou_o be lame."
  • "So you married a lame woman?" cried Kalganov.
  • "Yes. They both deceived me a little bit at the time, and concealed it. _hought she was hopping; she kept hopping… . I thought it was for fun."
  • "So pleased she was going to marry you!" yelled Kalganov, in a ringing, childish voice.
  • "Yes, so pleased. But it turned out to be quite a different cause. Afterwards, when we were married, after the wedding, that very evening, she confessed, an_ery touchingly asked forgiveness. 'I once jumped over a puddle when I was _hild,' she said, 'and injured my leg.' He he!"
  • Kalgonov went off into the most childish laughter, almost falling on the sofa.
  • Grushenka, too, laughed. Mitya was at the pinnacle of happiness.
  • "Do you know, that's the truth, he's not lying now," exclaimed Kalganov, turning to Mitya; "and do you know, he's been married twice; it's his firs_ife he's talking about. But his second wife, do you know, ran away, and i_live now."
  • "Is it possible?" said Mitya, turning quickly to Maximov with an expression o_he utmost astonishment.
  • "Yes. She did run away. I've had that unpleasant experience," Maximov modestl_ssented, "with a monsieur. And what was worse, she'd had all my littl_roperty transferred to her beforehand. 'You're an educated man,' she said t_e. 'You can always get your living.' She settled my business with that. _enerable bishop once said to me: 'One of your wives was lame, but the othe_as too light-footed.' He he!
  • "Listen, listen!" cried Kalganov, bubbling over, "if he's telling lies- and h_ften is- he's only doing it to amuse us all. There's no harm in that, i_here? You know, I sometimes like him. He's awfully low, but it's natural t_im, eh? Don't you think so? Some people are low from self-interest, but he'_imply so, from nature. Only fancy, he claims (he was arguing about it all th_ay yesterday) that Gogol wrote Dead Souls about him. Do you remember, there'_ landowner called Maximov in it, whom Nozdryov thrashed. He was charged, d_ou remember, 'for inflicting bodily injury with rods on the landowner Maximo_n a drunken condition.' Would you believe it, he claims that he was tha_aximov and that he was beaten! Now can it be so? Tchitchikov made hi_ourney, at the very latest, at the beginning of the twenties, so that th_ates don't fit. He couldn't have been thrashed then, he couldn't, could he?"
  • It was diffcult to imagine what Kalgonov was excited about, but his excitemen_as genuine. Mitya followed his lead without protest.
  • "Well, but if they did thrash him!" he cried, laughing.
  • "It's not that they thrashed me exactly, but what I mean is- " put in Maximov.
  • "What do you mean? Either they thrashed you or they didn't."
  • "What o'clock is it, panie?" the Pole, with the pipe, asked his tall friend, with a bored expression. The other shrugged his shoulders in reply. Neither o_hem had a watch.
  • "Why not talk? Let other people talk. Mustn't other people talk because you'r_ored?" Grushenka flew at him with evident intention of finding fault.
  • Something seemed for the first time to flash upon Mitya's mind. This time th_ole answered with unmistakable irritability.
  • "Pani, I didn't oppose it. I didn't say anything."
  • "All right then. Come, tell us your story," Grushenka cried to Maximov. "Wh_re you all silent?"
  • "There's nothing to tell, it's all so foolish," answered Maximov at once, wit_vident satisfaction, mincing a little. "Besides, all that's by way o_llegory in Gogol, for he's made all the names have a meaning. Nozdryov wa_eally called Nosov, and Kuvshinikov had quite a different name, he was calle_hkvornev. Fenardi really was called Fenardi, only he wasn't an Italian but _ussian, and Mamsel Fenardi was a pretty girl with her pretty little legs i_ights, and she had a little short skirt with spangles, and she kept turnin_ound and round, only not for four hours but for four minutes only, and sh_ewitched everyone… "
  • "But what were you beaten for?" cried Kalganov.
  • "For Piron!" answered Maximov.
  • "What Piron?" cried Mitya.
  • "The famous French writer, Piron. We were all drinking then, a big party o_s, in a tavern at that very fair. They'd invited me, and first of all I bega_uoting epigrams. 'Is that you, Boileau? What a funny get-up!' and Boilea_nswers that he's going to a masquerade, that is to the baths, he he! And the_ook it to themselves, so I made haste to repeat another, very sarcastic, wel_nown to all educated people:
  • Yes, Sappho and Phaon are we!
  • But one grief is weighing on me.
  • You don't know your way to the sea!
  • "They were still more offended and began abusing me in the most unseemly wa_or it. And as ill-luck would have it, to set things right, I began telling _ery cultivated anecdote about Piron, how he was not accepted into the Frenc_cademy, and to revenge himself wrote his own epitaph:
  • Ci-git Piron qui ne fut rien,
  • Pas meme academicien,*
  • * Here lies Piron, who was nothing, not even an Academician.
  • They seized me and thrashed me."
  • "But what for? What for?"
  • "For my education. People can thrash a man for anything," Maximov concluded, briefly and sententiously.
  • "Eh, that's enough! That's all stupid, I don't want to listen. I thought i_ould be amusing," Grushenka cut them short, suddenly.
  • Mitya started, and at once left off laughing. The tall Pole rose upon hi_eet, and with the haughty air of a man, bored and out of his element, bega_acing from corner to corner of the room, his hands behind his back.
  • "Ah, he can't sit still," said Grushenka, looking at him contemptuously. Mity_egan to feel anxious. He noticed besides, that the Pole on the sofa wa_ooking at him with an irritable expression.
  • "Panie!" cried Mitya, "Let's drink! and the other pan, too! Let us drink."
  • In a flash he had pulled three glasses towards him, and filled them wit_hampagne.
  • "To Poland, Panovie, I drink to your Poland!" cried Mitya.
  • "I shall be delighted, panie," said the Pole on the sofa, with dignity an_ffable condescension, and he took his glass.
  • "And the other pan, what's his name? Drink, most illustrious, take you_lass!" Mitya urged.
  • "Pan Vrublevsky," put in the Pole on the sofa.
  • Pan Vrublevsky came up to the table, swaying as he walked.
  • "To Poland, Panovie!" cried Mitya, raisin, his glass. "Hurrah!"
  • All three drank. Mitya seized the bottle and again poured out three glasses.
  • "Now to Russia, Panovie, and let us be brothers!"
  • "Pour out some for us," said Grushenka; "I'll drink to Russia, too!"
  • "So will I," said Kalganov.
  • "And I would, too… to Russia, the old grandmother!" tittered Maximov.
  • "All! All!" cried Mitya. "Trifon Borissovitch, some more bottles!"
  • The other three bottles Mitya had brought with him were put on the table.
  • Mitya filled the glasses.
  • "To Russia! Hurrah!" he shouted again. All drank the toast except the Poles, and Grushenka tossed off her whole glass at once. The Poles did not touc_heirs.
  • "How's this, Panovie?" cried Mitya, "won't you drink it?"
  • Pan Vrublevsky took the glass, raised it and said with a resonant voice:
  • "To Russia as she was before 1772."
  • "Come, that's better!" cried the other Pole, and they both emptied thei_lasses at once.
  • "You're fools, you Panovie," broke suddenly from Mitya.
  • "Panie!" shouted both the Poles, menacingly, setting on Mitya like a couple o_ocks. Pan Vrublevsky was specially furious.
  • "Can one help loving one's own country?" he shouted.
  • "Be silent! Don't quarrel! I won't have any quarrelling!" cried Grushenk_mperiously, and she stamped her foot on the floor. Her face glowed, her eye_ere shining. The effects of the glass she had just drunk were apparent. Mity_as terribly alarmed.
  • "Panovie, forgive me! It was my fault, I'm sorry. Vrublevsky, pani_rublevsky, I'm sorry."
  • "Hold your tongue, you, anyway! Sit down, you stupid!". Grushenka scolded wit_ngry annoyance.
  • Everyone sat down, all were silent, looking at one another.
  • "Gentlemen, I was the cause of it all," Mitya began again, unable to mak_nything of Grushenka's words. "Come, why are we sitting here? What shall w_o… to amuse ourselves again?"
  • "Ach, it's certainly anything but amusing!" Kalgonov mumbled lazily.
  • "Let's play faro again, as we did just now," Maximov tittered suddenly.
  • "Faro? Splendid!" cried Mitya. "If only the panovie-"
  • "It's lite, panovie," the Pole on the sofa responded, as it were unwillingly.
  • "That's true," assented Pan Vrublevsky.
  • "Lite? What do you mean by 'lite'?" asked Grushenka.
  • "Late, pani! 'A late hour' I mean," the Pole on the sofa explained.
  • "It's always late with them. They can never do anything!" Grushenka almos_hrieked in her anger. "They're dull themselves, so they want others to b_ull. Before came, Mitya, they were just as silent and kept turning up thei_oses at me."
  • "My goddess!" cried the Pole on the sofa, "I see you're not well-disposed t_e, that's why I'm gloomy. I'm ready, panie," added he, addressing Mitya.
  • "Begin, panie," Mitya assented, pulling his notes out of his pocket, an_aying two hundred-rouble notes on the table. "I want to lose a lot to you.
  • Take your cards. Make the bank."
  • "We'll have cards from the landlord, panie," said the little Pole, gravely an_mphatically.
  • "That's much the best way," chimed in Pan Vrublevsky.
  • "From the landlord? Very good, I understand, let's get them from him. Cards!"
  • Mitya shouted to the landlord.
  • The landlord brought in a new, unopened pack, and informed Mitya that th_irls were getting ready, and that the Jews with the cymbals would most likel_e here soon; but the cart with the provisions had not yet arrived. Mity_umped up from the table and ran into the next room to give orders, but onl_hree girls had arrived, and Marya was not there yet. And he did not kno_imself what orders to give and why he had run out. He only told them to tak_ut of the box the presents for the girls, the sweets, the toffee and th_ondants. "And vodka for Andrey, vodka for Andrey!" he cried in haste. "I wa_ude to Andrey!"
  • Suddenly Maximov, who had followed him out, touched him on the shoulder.
  • "Give me five roubles," he whispered to Mitya. "I'll stake something at faro, too, he he!"
  • "Capital! Splendid! Take ten, here!"
  • Again he took all the notes out of his pocket and picked out one for te_oubles. "And if you lose that, come again, come again."
  • "Very good," Maximov whispered joyfully, and he ran back again. Mitya, too, returned, apologising for having kept them waiting. The Poles had already sa_own, and opened the pack. They looked much more amiable, almost cordial. Th_ole on the sofa had lighted another pipe and was preparing to throw. He wor_n air of solemnity.
  • "To your places, gentlemen," cried Pan Vrublevsky.
  • "No, I'm not going to play any more," observed Kalganov, "I've lost fift_oubles to them just now."
  • "The pan had no luck, perhaps he'll be lucky this time," the Pole on the sof_bserved in his direction.
  • "How much in the bank? To correspond?" asked Mitya.
  • "That's according, panie, maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred, as much as yo_ill stake." "A million!" laughed Mitya.
  • "The Pan Captain has heard of Pan Podvysotsky, perhaps?"
  • "What Podvysotsky?"
  • "In Warsaw there was a bank and anyone comes and stakes against it.
  • Podvysotsky comes, sees a thousand gold pieces, stakes against the bank. Th_anker says, 'Panie Podvysotsky, are you laying down the gold, or must w_rust to your honour?' 'To my honour, panie,' says Podvysotsky. 'So much th_etter.' The banker throws the dice. Podvysotsky wins. 'Take it, panie,' say_he banker, and pulling out the drawer he gives him a million. 'Take it, panie, this is your gain.' There was a million in the bank. 'I didn't kno_hat,' says Podvysotsky. 'Panie Podvysotsky,' said the banker, 'you pledge_our honour and we pledged ours.' Podvysotsky took the million."
  • "That's not true," said Kalganov.
  • "Panie Kalganov, in gentlemanly society one doesn't say such things."
  • "As if a Polish gambler would give away a million!" cried Mitya, but checke_imself at once. "Forgive me, panie, it's my fault again; he would, he woul_ive away a million, for honour, for Polish honour. You see how I talk Polish, ha ha! Here, I stake ten roubles, the knave leads."
  • "And I put a rouble on the queen, the queen of hearts, the pretty littl_anienotchka[[11]](footnotes.xml#footnote_11) he! he!" laughed Maximov, pulling out his queen, and, as though trying to conceal it from everyone, h_oved right up and crossed himself hurriedly under the table. Mitya won. Th_ouble won, too. "A corner!" cried Mitya. "I'll bet another rouble, a 'single'
  • stake," Maximov muttered gleefully, hugely delighted at having won a rouble.
  • "Lost!" shouted Mitya. "A 'double' on the seven!" The seven too was trumped.
  • "Stop!" cried Kalganov suddenly. "Double! Double!" Mitya doubled his stakes, and each time he doubled the stake, the card he doubled was trumped by th_oles. The rouble stakes kept winning. "On the double!" shouted Mity_uriously. "You've lost two hundred, panie. Will you stake another hundred?"
  • the Pole on the sofa inquired. "What? Lost two hundred already? Then anothe_wo hundred! All doubles!" And pulling his money out of his pocket, Mitya wa_bout to fling two hundred roubles on the queen, but Kalgonov covered it wit_is hand. "That's enough!" he shouted in his ringing voice. "What's th_atter?" Mitya stared at him. "That's enough! I don't want you to pla_nymore. Don't!" "Why?" "Because I don't. Hang it, come away. That's why. _on't let you go on playing." Mitya gazed at him in astonishment. "Give it up, Mitya. He may be right. You've lost a lot as it is," said Grushenka, with _urious note in her voice. Both the Poles rose from their seats with a deepl_ffended air. "Are you joking, panie?" said the short man, looking severely a_alganov. "How dare you!" Pan Vrublevsky, too, growled at Kalganov. "Don'_are to shout like that," cried Grushenka. "Ah, you turkey-cocks!" Mity_ooked at each of them in turn. But something in Grushenka's face suddenl_truck him, and at the same instant something new flashed into his mind- _trange new thought! "Pani Agrippina," the little Pole was beginning, crimso_ith anger, when Mitya suddenly went up to him and slapped him on th_houlder. "Most illustrious, two words with you."cried Grushenka. "What do yo_ant?" "In the next room, I've two words to say to you, something pleasant, very pleasant. You'll be glad to hear it." The little pan was taken aback an_ooked apprehensively at Mitya. He agreed at once, however, on condition tha_an Vrublevsky went with them. "The bodyguard? Let him come, and I want him, too. I must have him!" cried Mitya. "March, panovie!" "Where are you going?"
  • asked Grushenka, anxiously. "We'll be back in one moment," answered Mitya.
  • There was a sort of boldness, a sudden confidence shining in his eyes. Hi_ace had looked very different when he entered the room an hour before. He le_he Poles, not into the large room where the chorus of girls was assemblin_nd the table was being laid, but into the bedroom on the right, where th_runks and packages were kept, and there were two large beds, with pyramids o_otton pillows on each. There was a lighted candle on a small deal table i_he corner. The small man and Mitya sat down to this table, facing each other, while the huge Vrublevsky stood beside them, his hands behind his back. Th_oles looked severe but were evidently inquisitive. "What can I do for you, panie?" lisped the little Pole. "Well, look here, panie, I won't keep yo_ong. There's money for you," he pulled out his notes. "Would you like thre_housand? Take it and go your way." The Pole gazed open-eyed at Mitya, with _earching look. "Three thousand, panie?" He exchanged glances with Vrublevsky.
  • "Three, panovie, three! Listen, panie, I see you're a sensible man. Take thre_housand and go to the devil, and Vrublevsky with you d'you hear? But, a_nce, this very minute, and for ever. You understand that, panie, for ever.
  • Here's the door, you go out of it. What have you got there, a great-coat, _ur coat? I'll bring it out to you. They'll get the horses out directly, an_hen-good-bye, panie!" Mitya awaited an answer with assurance. He had n_oubts. An expression of extraordinary resolution passed over the Pole's face.
  • "And the money, panie?" "The money, panie? Five hundred roubles I'll give yo_his moment for the journey, and as a first instalment, and two thousand fiv_undred to-morrow, in the town- I swear on my honour, I'll get it, I'll get i_t any cost!" cried Mitya. The Poles exchanged glances again. The short man'_ace looked more forbidding. "Seven hundred, seven hundred, not five hundred, at once, this minute, cash down!" Mitya added, feeling something wrong.
  • "What's the matter, panie? Don't you trust me? I can't give you the whol_hree thousand straight off. If I give it, you may come back to her to-morrow… . Besides, I haven't the three thousand with me. I've got it at home in th_own," faltered Mitya, his spirit sinking at every word he uttered. "Upon m_ord, the money's there, hidden." In an instant an extraordinary sense o_ersonal dignity showed itself in the little man's face. "What next?" he aske_ronically. "For shame!" and he spat on the floor. Pan Vrublevsky spat too.
  • "You do that, panie," said Mitya, recognising with despair that all was over,
  • "because you hope to make more out of Grushenka? You're a couple of capons, that's what you are!" "This is a mortal insult!" The little Pole turned as re_s a crab, and he went out of the room, briskly, as though unwilling to hea_nother word. Vrublevsky swung out after him, and Mitya followed, confused an_restfallen. He was afraid of Grushenka, afraid that the Pan would at onc_aise an outcry. And so indeed he did. The Pole walked into the room and thre_imself in a theatrical attitude before Grushenka. "Pani Agrippina, I hav_eceived a mortal insult!" he exclaimed. But Grushenka suddenly lost al_atience, as though they had wounded her in the tenderest spot. "Spea_ussian! Speak Russian!" she cried, "not another word of Polish! You used t_alk Russian. You can't have forgotten it in five years." She was red wit_assion. "Pani Agrippina-" "My name's Agrafena, Grushenka, speak Russian or _on't listen!" The Pole gasped with offended dignity, and quickly an_ompously delivered himself in broken Russian: "Pani Agrafena, I came here t_orget the past and forgive it, to forget all that has happened till to-day-"
  • "Forgive? Came here to forgive me?" Grushenka cut him short, jumping up fro_er seat. "Just so, Pani, I'm not pusillanimous, I'm magnanimous. But I wa_stounded when I saw your lovers. Pan Mitya offered me three thousand, in th_ther room to depart. I spat in the pan's face." "What? He offered you mone_or me?" cried Grushenka, hysterically. "Is it true, Mitya? How dare you? Am _or sale?" "Panie, panie!" yelled Mitya, "she's pure and shining, and I hav_ever been her lover! That's a lie… " "How dare you defend me to him?"
  • shrieked Grushenka. "It wasn't virtue kept me pure, and it wasn't that I wa_fraid of Kuzma, but that I might hold up my head when I met him, and tell hi_e's a scoundrel. And he did actually refuse the money?" "He took it! He too_t!" cried Mitya; "only he wanted to get the whole three thousand at once, an_ could only give him seven hundred straight off." "I see: he heard I ha_oney, and came here to marry me!" "Pani Agrippina!" cried the little Pole.
  • "I'm- a knight, I'm- a nobleman, and not a lajdak. I came here to make you m_ife and I find you a different woman, perverse and shameless." "Oh, go bac_here you came from! I'll tell them to turn you out and you'll be turned out,"
  • cried Grushenka, furious. "I've been a fool, a fool, to have been miserabl_hese five years! And it wasn't for his sake, it was my anger made m_iserable. And this isn't he at all! Was he like this? It might be his father!
  • Where did you get your wig from? He was a falcon, but this is a gander. H_sed to laugh and sing to me… . And I've been crying for five years, damne_ool, abject, shameless I was! She sank back in her low chair and hid her fac_n her hands. At that instant the chorus of Mokroe began singing in the roo_n the left- a rollicking dance song. "A regular Sodom!" Vrublevsky roare_uddenly. "Landlord, send the shameless hussies away!" The landlord, who ha_een for some time past inquisitively peeping in at the door, hearing shout_nd guessing that his guests were quarrelling, at once entered the room. "Wha_re you shouting for? D'you want to split your throat?" he said, addressin_rublevsky, with surprising rudeness. "Animal!" bellowed Pan Vrublevsky.
  • "Animal? And what sort of cards were you playing with just now? I gave you _ack and you hid it. You played with marked cards! I could send you to Siberi_or playing with false cards, d'you know that, for it's just the same as fals_anknotes… And going up to the sofa he thrust his fingers between the sof_ack and the cushion, and pulled out an unopened pack of cards. "Here's m_ack unopened!" He held it up and showed it to all in the room. "From where _tood I saw him slip my pack away, and put his in place of it- you're a chea_nd not a gentleman!" "And I twice saw the pan change a card!" cried Kalganov.
  • "How shameful! How shameful!" exclaimed Grushenka, clasping her hands, an_lushing for genuine shame. "Good Lord, he's come to that!" "I thought so, too!" said Mitya. But before he had uttered the words, Vrublevsky, with _onfused and infuriated face, shook his fist at Grushenka, shouting: "You lo_arlot!" Mitya flew at him at once, clutched him in both hands, lifted him i_he air, and in one instant had carried him into the room on the right, fro_hich they had just come. "I've laid him on the floor, there," he announced, returning at once, gasping with excitement. "He's struggling, the scoundrel!
  • But he won't come back, no fear of that!… " He closed one half of the foldin_oors, and holding the other ajar called out to the little Pole: "Mos_llustrious, will you please to retire as well?" "My dear Dmitr_yodorovitch," said Trifon Borissovitch, "make them give you back the mone_ou lost. It's as good as stolen from you." "I don't want my fifty rouble_ack," Kalgonov declared suddenly. "I don't want my two hundred, either,"
  • cried Mitya, "I wouldn't take it for anything! Let him keep it as _onsolation." "Bravo, Mitya! You're a trump, Mitya!" cried Grushenka, an_here was a note of fierce anger in the exclamation. The little pan, crimso_ith fury but still mindful of his dignity, was making for the door, but h_topped short and said suddenly, addressing Grushenka: "Pani, if you want t_ome with me, come. If not, good-bye." And swelling with indignation an_mportance he went to the door. This was a man of character: he had so good a_pinion of himself that after all that had passed, he still expected that sh_ould marry him. Mitya slammed the door after him. "Lock it," said Kalganov.
  • But the key clicked on the other side, they had locked it from within. "That'_apital!" exclaimed Grushenka relentlessly. "Serve them right!"