"Again!" he gnashed his teeth. "Never mind! I have been challenged, and I am exercising my right. I want to fire a third time ... at all costs."

"You have every right," Kirillov cut off. Mavriky Nikolaevich said nothing. They were placed for the third time, the command was given; this time Gaganov walked right up to the barrier, and from there, from twelve paces, began taking aim. His hands were trembling too much for a good shot. Stavrogin stood with his pistol lowered and motionlessly waited for him to fire.

"Too long, you're aiming too long!" Kirillov shouted impatiently. "Fire! Fi-i-ire!"

But the shot rang out, and this time the white beaver hat flew off Nikolai Vsevolodovich's head. The shot had been quite well aimed, the crown of the hat was pierced very low down; half an inch lower and all would have been over. Kirillov picked it up and handed it to Nikolai Vsevolodovich.

"Fire, don't keep your adversary waiting!" Mavriky Nikolaevich cried in terrible agitation, seeing that Stavrogin seemed to have forgotten to fire as he examined the hat with Kirillov. Stavrogin gave a start, looked at Gaganov, turned away, and this time without any delicacy fired off into the woods. The duel was over. Gaganov stood as if crushed. Mavriky Nikolaevich went up to him and started to say something, but the man seemed not to understand. Kirillov, as he was leaving, doffed his hat and gave a nod to Mavriky Nikolaevich; but Stavrogin forgot his former politeness; after firing into the woods, he did not even turn towards the barrier, but thrust his pistol at Kirillov and hastily made for the horses. There was spite in his face; he was silent. Kirillov, too, was silent. They mounted their horses and setoff at a gallop.

III

'Whyare you silent?" he called impatiently to Kirillov, not far from home.

"What do you want?" the latter answered, almost slipping off his horse, which reared up.

Stavrogin restrained himself.

"I didn't mean to offend that... fool, and here I've offended him again," he said softly.

"Yes, offended again," Kirillov cut off, "and, besides, he's not a fool."

"Still, I did all I could."

"No."

"What should I have done?"

"Not challenge him."

"Take another slap in the face?"

"Yes, take a slap."

"I'm beginning not to understand anything!" Stavrogin said spitefully. "Why does everyone expect something of me that they don't expect of others? Why should I take what no one else takes, and invite burdens that no one else can bear?"

"I thought you yourself were seeking a burden?"

"I'm seeking a burden?"

"Yes."

"You... saw that?"

"Yes."

"Is it so noticeable?"

"Yes."

There was a minute's silence. Stavrogin had a very preoccupied look, was almost struck.

"I didn't shoot at him because I didn't want to kill—there was nothing else, I assure you," he said, hastily and anxiously, as if justifying himself.

"You shouldn't have offended him."

"And what should I have done?"

"You should have killed him."

"You're sorry I didn't kill him?"

"I'm not sorry about anything. I thought you really wanted to kill him. You don't know what you're seeking."

"I'm seeking a burden," laughed Stavrogin.

"You didn't want blood, why would you let him kill?"

"If Ihadn't challenged him, he'd have killed me anyway, without a duel."

"Not your business. Maybe he wouldn't have.": "And would just have beaten me up?"

"Not your business. Bear the burden. Otherwise there's no merit."

"I spit on your merit, I'm not seeking that from anyone!"

"I thought you were," Kirillov concluded with terrible equanimity.

They rode into the courtyard.

"Want to come in?" Nikolai Vsevolodovich offered.

"No, home. Good-bye." He got off the horse and took his box under his arm.

"You at least are not angry with me?" Stavrogin gave him his hand.

"Not at all!" Kirillov turned back to shake hands with him. "If the burden is light for me because of my nature, then maybe the burden is heavier for you because of your nature. Nothing to be much ashamed of, only a little."

"I know I'm a worthless character, but I'm not trying to get in with the strong ones."

"Don't; you're not a strong man. Come for tea."

Nikolai Vsevolodovich entered the house greatly perturbed.

IV

He learned at once from Alexei Yegorovich that Varvara Petrovna, very pleased with Nikolai Vsevolodovich's going out— the first time after eight days of illness—for a ride on horseback, ordered a carriage to be readied and drove off alone, "after the pattern of former days, to take a breath of fresh air, for in these eight days she has forgotten what it means to breathe fresh air."

"Did she go alone or with Darya Pavlovna?" Nikolai Vsevolodovich interrupted the old man with a quick question, and frowned deeply on hearing that Darya Pavlovna "declined to accompany her, being unwell, and is now in her rooms."

"Listen, old man," he said, as if suddenly making up his mind, "keep an eye out for her all day today, and if you see her coming to me, stop her at once, and tell her that at least for a few days I'll be unable to receive her... that I myself ask it of her... and that I'll send for her when the time comes—do you hear?"

"I'll tell her, sir," Alexei Yegorovich said, with anguish in his voice, lowering his eyes.

"But not before you see clearly that she's coming to me herself."

"Do not worry, if you please, sir, there will be no mistakes. Up to now the visits have taken place through me; my assistance has always been called upon."

"I know. But, still, not before she comes herself. Bring me some tea, quickly, if you can."

As soon as the old man went out, at almost the same moment, the same door opened and Darya Pavlovna appeared on the threshold. Her eyes were calm, but her face was pale.

"Where did you come from?" Stavrogin exclaimed.

"I was standing right here, waiting for him to come out so that I could come in. I heard the order you gave him, and when he came out just now, I hid around the corner to the right, and he didn't notice me."

"I've long meant to break it off with you, Dasha... meanwhile... for the time being. I couldn't receive you last night, despite your note. I wanted to write back to you, but I'm no good at writing," he added with vexation, even as if with disgust.

"I myself thought we should break it off. Varvara Petrovna is too suspicious of our relations."

"Well, let her be."

"No, she shouldn't worry. And so, that's it now, until the end?"

"You're still so certainly expecting an end?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

"Nothing in the world ever ends."

"Here there will be an end. Call me then; I'll come. Now, good-bye."

"And what sort of end will it be?" Nikolai Vsevolodovich grinned.

"You're not wounded, and... haven't shed blood?" she asked, without answering his question about the end.

"It was stupid; I didn't kill anyone, don't worry. However, you'll hear all about it this very day from everyone. I'm a bit unwell."