“But excuse me, excuse me. It is for me to explain⁠ ⁠… how it all happened⁠ ⁠… In my turn⁠ ⁠… though I agree with you⁠ ⁠… it is unnecessary. But a year ago, the girl died of typhus. I remained lodging there as before, and when my landlady moved into her present quarters, she said to me⁠ ⁠… and in a friendly way⁠ ⁠… that she had complete trust in me, but still, would I not give her an I.O.U. for one hundred and fifteen roubles, all the debt I owed her. She said if only I gave her that, she would trust me again, as much as I liked, and that she would never, never⁠—those were her own words⁠—make use of that I.O.U. till I could pay of myself⁠ ⁠… and now, when I have lost my lessons and have nothing to eat, she takes action against me. What am I to say to that?”

“All these affecting details are no business of ours.” Ilya Petrovitch interrupted rudely. “You must give a written undertaking but as for your love affairs and all these tragic events, we have nothing to do with that.”