Nikolai Vsevolodovich listened to it all with curiosity.

"Much of that I knew nothing about," he said. "Of course, anything could happen with you... Listen," he said, after some reflection, "if you like, tell them—well, you know whom—that Liputin was lying, and that you only meant to scare me a bit with a denunciation, thinking that I, too, was compromised, so as to extract more money from me that way... Understand?"

"Nikolai Vsevolodovich, my dear, can I really be threatened with such a danger? I've been waiting only so I could ask you."

Nikolai Vsevolodovich grinned.

"You certainly won't be allowed to go to Petersburg, even if I give you money for the trip... but, anyhow, it's time I went to Marya Timofeevna," and he got up from his chair.

"And, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, what about Marya Timofeevna?" "Just as I said."

"Can that also be true?"

"You still don't believe it?" "Can it be that you'll cast me off like an old, worn-out boot?"

"We'll see," laughed Nikolai Vsevolodovich. "Well, let me go."

"Wouldn't you like to order me to stay out on the porch, sir... so as not to overhear something somehow, by chance... because the rooms are tiny."

"That's a good idea; stay out on the porch. Take the umbrella."; "Your umbrella ... am I worth it, sir?" the captain oversweetened.

"Every man is worth an umbrella."

"At one stroke you define the minimum of human rights..."

But he was now babbling mechanically; he was too overwhelmed by the news, and became totally bewildered. And yet, almost at once, as soon as he stepped out onto the porch and opened the umbrella over him, the usual soothing notion began to hatch in his frivolous and knavish head, that he was being cheated and lied to, and, if so, it was not he who should fear, but he who was feared.

"If they're lying and cheating me, what precisely is the gist of it?" buzzed in his head. The announcement of the marriage seemed absurd to him: "True, anything can happen with such a wonder-worker; he lives for people's evil. And what if he's afraid himself, after Sunday's affront, and more so than ever before? So he comes running to assure me he's going to announce it himself, for fear I'll announce it. Eh, don't miss your mark, Lebyadkin! And why then come by night, by stealth, if he wants the publicity himself? And if he's afraid, it means he's afraid now, precisely at this moment, precisely in these few days... Eh, don't slip up, Lebyadkin! ...

"He frightens me with Pyotr Stepanovich. Aie, it's scary, aie, it's scary; no, that's where it's really scary! What ever made me blab about it to Liputin! Devil knows what these devils are cooking up, I never could make it out. They've begun to stir again, like five years ago. True, whom could I denounce them to? 'You didn't write to anybody out of foolishness?' Hm. So one could write as if it was out of foolishness? Is he advising me? 'That's why you're going to Petersburg.' The rogue, I just had a dream, and he's already guessed it! As if he himself was pushing me to go. There can only be one of two things here: either he's afraid, again, because he got into some mischief, or ... or he's not afraid himself and is only prompting me so that I'll denounce them all! Oh, scary, Lebyadkin, oh, just don't let me miss my mark! ..."

He fell to thinking so deeply that he even forgot to eavesdrop. Anyhow, eavesdropping was difficult; the door was a thick, single-leafed one, and they were speaking very softly; some indistinct sounds could be heard. The captain even spat and went back out, thoughtful, to whistle on the porch.

III

Marya Timofeevna's room was twice the size of the one occupied by the captain, and furnished with the same crude furniture; but the table in front of the sofa was covered with a bright, festive tablecloth; a lamp was burning on it; a beautiful carpet was spread over the whole floor; the bed was set apart behind a green curtain that ran the whole length of the room; and there was, besides, one big, soft armchair by the table, in which, however, Marya Timofeevna never sat. In the corner, as in her former lodgings, there was an icon with an icon lamp burning in front of it, and on the table the same indispensable little things were laid out: the deck of cards, the little mirror, the Songbook, even the sweet roll. In addition to which there had also appeared two books with colored pictures, one of extracts from popular travel writings adapted for young readers, the other a collection of light didactic tales, mostly about knights, intended for Christmases and boarding schools. There was also an album of various photographs. Marya Timofeevna was, of course, expecting her visitor, as the captain had said; but when Nikolai Vsevolodovich entered her room, she was asleep, half reclining on the sofa, leaning on an embroidered pillow. The visitor closed the door inaudibly behind him and, without moving from the spot, began to study the sleeping woman.

The captain had stretched things a bit when he said that she had seen to her toilette. She was wearing the same dark dress as on Sunday at Varvara Petrovna's. Her hair was done up in the same way, in a tiny knot at the nape; her long and dry neck was bared in the same way. The black shawl given her by Varvara Petrovna lay on the sofa, carefully folded. As usual, she was crudely made up with white and rouge. Nikolai Vsevolodovich had not been standing there even a minute when she suddenly awoke, as if she had felt his gaze on her, opened her eyes, and quickly sat up straight. But something strange must also have happened with the visitor: he went on standing in the same spot by the door; with a fixed and piercing look he stared silently and persistently into her face. Perhaps this look was excessively stern, perhaps it expressed loathing, even a malicious delight in her fear— unless the half-awake Marya Timofeevna was simply imagining it— but suddenly, after almost a minute-long pause, the poor woman's face took on an expression of complete horror; spasms ran across it, she raised her hands, shaking them, and suddenly began to cry, exactly like a frightened child; another moment and she would have screamed. But the visitor came to his senses; in an instant his face changed, and he approached the table with a most amiable and tender smile.

"I'm sorry I frightened you, Marya Timofeevna, by coming in unexpectedly while you were asleep," he said, giving her his hand.

The sound of these tender words produced its effect, her fright vanished, though she still looked at him with fear, apparently trying to understand something. Fearfully, she also gave him her hand. At last a smile stirred timidly on her lips.

"Greetings, Prince," she whispered, peering at him somehow strangely.

"You must have been having a bad dream?" he went on smiling with ever more amiability and tenderness.

"And how did you know I was dreaming about that?. . ."

And she suddenly trembled again and recoiled, raising her hand in front of her as if to protect herself, and preparing to cry again.

"Pull yourself together, enough, there's nothing to fear, didn't you recognize me?" Nikolai Vsevolodovich tried to persuade her, but this time it took him some while to persuade her; she looked at him silently, with the same tormenting bewilderment, with a heavy thought in her poor head, still straining to think her way through to something. She would drop her eyes, then suddenly look him over with a quick, embracing glance. Finally, she seemed not so much to calm down as to reach a decision.