"How, with your own eyes? Did you go in there at night, or what?"

"Maybe I did, only nobody knows."

"Why didn't you put a knife in him?"

"After making a reckoning, I steadied myself, sir. Because once I knew for sure that I could take out about a hundred and fifty roubles anytime, then how should I venture into such a thing when I can take out the whole fifteen hundred, provided I just wait a bit? Since Captain Lebyadkin (I heard it with my own ears, sir) always had gr-r-reat hopes of you in his drunken state, sir, and there's no such tavern establishment around here, not even the lowest pot-house, where he wouldn't announce as much, being in that same state, sir. So that, hearing about it from many lips, I, too, began to place all my hopes in Your Excellency. I'm telling it to you, sir, as I would to my own father or brother, because Pyotr Stepanovich will never find it out from me, and neither will a single soul else. So then, how about three little roubles, Your Excellency, would you be so kind, sir, or not? You'd unbind me, sir, so that I'd know the real truth, I mean, because it's quite impossible for me without assistance, sir."

Nikolai Vsevolodovich guffawed loudly, and taking from his pocket a wallet that contained as much as fifty roubles in small bills, he pulled one out of the wad for him, then another, a third, a fourth. Fedka caught them in the air, rushed about, the bills rained down into the mud, Fedka caught at them with little cries: "Ah, ah!" Nikolai Vsevolodovich finally threw the whole wad at him, and, still guffawing, set off down the lane, this time alone. The tramp stayed behind, fussing on his knees in the mud, picking up the bills that had scattered on the wind or sunk in puddles, and for a whole hour one could hear his abrupt little cries from the darkness: "Ah, ah!"

3: The Duel

1

The next day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the proposed duel took place.^[104] The speedy outcome of the affair was furthered by Artemy Pavlovich Gaganov's indomitable desire to fight at all costs. He did not understand his adversary's conduct, and was furious. For a whole month he had been insulting him with impunity, and was still unable to make him lose patience. He needed a challenge from Nikolai Vsevolodovich, because he had no direct pretext for a challenge himself. And for some reason he was embarrassed to admit his secret motive—that is, simply a morbid hatred of Stavrogin for the family insult of four years ago. And he himself considered this pretext impossible, especially in view of the humble apologies already twice offered by Nikolai Vsevolodovich. Inwardly he set Stavrogin down as a shameless coward; he simply could not understand how he could suffer a slap from Shatov; and thus he finally resolved to send that letter, remarkable in its rudeness, which finally prompted Nikolai Vsevolodovich to suggest a meeting himself. Having sent this letter the day before, and awaiting the challenge with feverish impatience, morbidly reckoning up his chances for it, now hopeful, now despairing, he provided himself, just in case, on the previous evening, with a second—namely, Mavriky Nikolaevich Drozdov, his friend from school days and a man he particularly respected. So it was that when Kirillov came with his errand the next day at nine o'clock in the morning, he found the ground quite prepared. All the apologies and unheard-of concessions of Nikolai Vsevolodovich were rejected at once, from the first word, and with remarkable vehemence. Mavriky Nikolaevich, who had learned only the day before of the course the affair had taken, gaped in astonishment at such unheard-of offers, and wanted to insist at once on a reconciliation, but noticing that Artemy Pavlovich, who guessed his intentions, almost started shaking in his chair, he kept silent and said nothing. Had it not been for the word he had given his friend, he would have walked out immediately; he stayed solely in hopes of helping at least with something in the outcome of the affair. Kirillov conveyed the challenge; all the conditions stipulated for the meeting by Stavrogin were accepted at once, literally, without the least objection. Only one addition was made, albeit a very cruel one—namely, that if nothing decisive occurred at the first shots, they would begin over again; if it ended with nothing the second time, they would begin a third time. Kirillov frowned, bargained a little about the third time, but, having bargained unsuccessfully, agreed, on condition, however, that "three times was possible, but four absolutely not." This they conceded. And so, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the meeting took place at Brykovo, that is, a little woods outside town, between Skvoreshniki on one side and the Shpigulins' factory on the other. Yesterday's rain had stopped entirely, but it was wet, damp, and windy. Low, dull, broken clouds raced quickly across the cold sky; the trees rustled densely and rollingly at their tops, and creaked on their roots; the morning was very melancholy.

Gaganov and Mavriky Nikolaevich arrived at the place in a jaunty char-à-banc and pair, driven by Artemy Pavlovich; they had a servant with them. At almost the same moment, Nikolai Vsevolodovich and Kirillov appeared, not in a carriage but on horseback, and also accompanied by a mounted servant. Kirillov, who had never mounted a horse before, sat bold and straight in the saddle, clutching in his right hand the heavy pistol box, which he would not entrust to the servant, and with his left hand, for want of skill, constantly twisting and pulling at the reins, causing the horse to toss its head and display a desire to rear, which, however, did not frighten the rider in the least. The insecure Gaganov, who took offense quickly and deeply, considered this arrival on horseback a new offense to himself, implying that his enemies therefore hoped for success, since they did not even assume the need for a carriage in case a wounded man had to be transported. He got down from his char-à-banc all yellow with anger, and felt his hands trembling, of which he informed Mavriky Nikolaevich. He did not respond at all to Nikolai Vsevolodovich's bow and turned away. The seconds cast lots: the lot fell on Kirillov's pistols. The barriers were measured out, the adversaries were placed, the carriage and horses were sent with the servants about three hundred paces off. The weapons were loaded and handed to the adversaries.

It is a pity the story must move on more quickly and there is no time for descriptions; but it is impossible to do without observations entirely. Mavriky Nikolaevich was melancholy and preoccupied. Kirillov, on the other hand, was perfectly calm and indifferent, very precise in the details of the duty he had assumed, but without the least fussiness, and almost without curiosity as to the fatal and so imminent outcome of the affair. Nikolai Vsevolodovich was paler than usual, dressed rather lightly in an overcoat and a white beaver hat. He seemed very tired, frowned from time to time, and did not find it at all necessary to conceal his unpleasant mood. But the most remarkable one at that moment was Artemy Pavlovich, so that it is altogether impossible not to say a few words about him quite separately.

II

We have had no occasion as yet to mention his appearance. He was a man of large stature, white-skinned, well-fed, as simple folk say, almost flabby, with thin blond hair, some thirty-three years old, and perhaps even handsome of feature. He had retired as a colonel, and had he attained the rank of general, he would have looked even more imposing as a general, and it may well be that a good combat general would have come out of him.