None of us made any reply to these words, we merely exchanged glances. Even Liputin himself forgot to titter.

"Gentlemen, I'm very sorry," Stepan Trofimovich rose from the sofa, "but I'm feeling unwell and upset. Excuse me."

"Ah, about us leaving," Mr. Kirillov suddenly recollected, seizing his cap. "It's good you said; I'm forgetful."

He stood up and with a simplehearted look went over to Stepan Trofimovich, holding out his hand.

"Sorry you're not well and I came."

"I wish you all success here," Stepan Trofimovich replied, shaking his hand well-wishingly and unhurriedly. "I understand that if you have lived so long abroad, as you say, avoiding people for your own purposes, and—have forgotten Russia, then, of course, whether you will or no, you must look at us dyed-in-the-wool Russians with surprise, and, in the same measure, we at you. Mais cela passera.^[xliv]Only one thing puzzles me: you want to build our bridge, and at the same time you declare yourself for the principle of universal destruction. They'll never let you build our bridge!"

"What? What did you say ... ah, the devil!" Kirillov exclaimed, amazed, and suddenly burst into the most gay and bright laughter. For a moment his face took on a most childlike expression, which I found very becoming to him. Liputin was rubbing his hands, delighted with Stepan Trofimovich's little witticism. Meanwhile, I kept wondering to myself why Stepan Trofimovich was so afraid of Liputin, and why he had cried out, "I am a lost man," when he heard him coming.

V

We were still standing on the threshold, in the doorway. It was that moment when hosts and guests hasten to exchange their last and most amiable words and then happily part.

"He's so sullen today just because," Liputin suddenly put in as he was leaving the room and, so to speak, on the wing, "just because of some row he had earlier with Captain Lebyadkin over his dear sister. The captain whips that beautiful sister of his, the crazy one, with a quirt, a real Cossack quirt, sir, every day, morning and evening. So Alexei Nilych has even moved to another wing of the house so as to have no part of it. Well, sir, good-bye."

"Sister? Ill? With a quirt?" Stepan Trofimovich cried out, as if he himself had suddenly been lashed with a quirt. "What sister? What Lebyadkin?"

His former fear instantly returned.

"Lebyadkin? He's a retired captain; only he used to call himself a captain junior-grade..."

"Eh, what do I care about his rank! What sister? My God... Lebyadkin, you say? But we had a Lebyadkin..."

"That's the very one, our Lebyadkin—remember, at Virginsky's?"

"But that one was caught with bogus banknotes?"

"And now he's back, since three weeks ago, and under the most peculiar circumstances."

"But he's a scoundrel!"

"What, can't we have any scoundrels around here?" Liputin suddenly grinned, as if he were feeling Stepan Trofimovich all over with his thievish little eyes.

"Ah, my God, I don't mean that... though, by the way, I quite agree with you about the scoundrel, with you precisely. But go on, go on! What did you mean by that?... You must have meant something by that!"

"It's all really such trifles, sir ... that is, this captain, in all likelihood, left us then not from the bogus banknotes, but just so as to find this sister of his, and she was allegedly hiding in some unknown place; well, and now he's brought her, that's the whole story. Why is it you seem so frightened, Stepan Trofimovich? I'm only repeating his drunken babble, anyway; when he's sober he keeps mum about it. He's an irritable man and, shall we say, of military aesthetics, only in bad taste. And this sister is not only mad, but even lame. She supposedly had her honor seduced by somebody, and for that Mr. Lebyadkin has supposedly been taking an annual tribute from the seducer for many years, in reward for a noble offense, so at least it comes out from his babble— but I think it's just drunken talk, sir. He's simply boasting. Such things are handled more cheaply. But that he has money—that is completely correct: a week and a half ago he was walking around without socks, and now I've seen for myself he has hundreds in his hands. His sister has some kind of fits every day, she shrieks, and he 'puts her in order' with a quirt. One has to instill respect into a woman, he says. Only I don't understand how Shatov can go on living near them. Alexei Nilych stayed just three days, he's known them since Petersburg, and now he's living in the wing on account of the disturbance."

"Is this all true?" Stepan Trofimovich turned to the engineer.

"You're babbling too much, Liputin," the latter muttered angrily.

"Mysteries! Secrets! Where did we get so many mysteries and secrets all of a sudden!" Stepan Trofimovich exclaimed, not restraining himself.

The engineer frowned, blushed, heaved his shoulders, and started out of the room.

"Alexei Nilych even snatched away his quirt, sir, broke it, and threw it out the window, and there was a big quarrel," Liputin added.

"What are you babbling for, Liputin, it's stupid, what for?" Alexei Nilych at once turned back again.

"And why conceal out of modesty the noblest impulses of one's soul—your soul, that is, sir, I'm not talking about mine."

"How stupid this is... and quite unnecessary... Lebyadkin is stupid and completely empty—useless for action and... completely harmful. Why do you babble various things? I'm leaving."

"Ah, what a pity!" Liputin exclaimed, with a bright smile. "Otherwise I'd get you to laugh, Stepan Trofimovich, with yet another little anecdote. I even came with that in mind, though anyway you must have heard it yourself. Well, let's wait till next time, Alexei Nilych is in such a hurry... Good-bye, sir. The anecdote is about Varvara Petrovna, she really made me laugh the day before yesterday, she sent for me on purpose, it's really killing! Good-bye, sir."

But here Stepan Trofimovich simply fastened on to him: he seized him by the shoulders, turned him sharply back into the room, and sat him on a chair. Liputin even got scared.

"But it really is, sir!" he began, looking cautiously at Stepan Trofimovich from his chair. "She suddenly sent for me and asked 'confidentially' what I think in my own opinion: is Nikolai Vsevolodovich crazy, or in his right mind? Isn't that surprising?"

"You're out of your mind!" Stepan Trofimovich muttered, and suddenly seemed beside himself: "Liputin, you know perfectly well that you came here only in order to tell me some abomination of that sort and... something worse still!"

I instantly recalled his surmise that Liputin not only knew more about our situation than we did, but even knew something that we ourselves would never know.

"For pity's sake, Stepan Trofimovich!" Liputin muttered, as if terribly frightened, "for pity's sake..."

"Keep still and begin! I beg you, too, Mr. Kirillov, to come back and be present, I beg you! Sit down. And you, Liputin, begin directly, simply... and without any little excuses!"

"If I'd only known you'd be so astounded by it, I wouldn't have begun at all, sir ... But I really did think you already knew everything from Varvara Petrovna herself!"

"You didn't think anything of the kind! Begin, begin, I tell you!"

"Only do me a favor, sit down yourself, or else I'll be sitting and you'll be... running about in front of me all agitated. It will be awkward, sir."