too, yet we shall talk our way to the truth at last, for we are on the right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch … is not on the right path. Though I’ve been calling them all sorts of names just now, I do respect them all … though I don’t respect Zametov, I like him, for he is a puppy, and that bullock Zossimov, because he is an honest man and knows his work. But enough, it’s all said and forgiven. Is it forgiven? Well, then, let’s go on. I know this corridor, I’ve been here, there was a scandal here at Number 3. … Where are you here? Which number? eight? Well, lock yourselves in for the night, then. Don’t let anybody in. In a quarter of an hour I’ll come back with news, and half an hour later I’ll bring Zossimov, you’ll see! Goodbye, I’ll
“Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen?” said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, addressing her daughter with anxiety and dismay.
“Don’t worry yourself, mother,” said Dounia, taking off her hat and cape. “God has sent this gentleman to our aid, though he has come from a drinking party. We can depend on him, I assure you. And all that he has done for Rodya. …”
“Ah. Dounia, goodness knows whether he will come! How could I bring myself to leave Rodya? … And how different, how different I had fancied our meeting! How sullen he was, as though not pleased to see us. …”
Tears came into her eyes.
“No, it’s not that, mother. You didn’t see, you were crying all the time. He is quite unhinged by serious illness—that’s the reason.”
“Ah, that illness! What will happen, what will happen? And how he talked to you, Dounia!” said the mother, looking timidly at her daughter, trying to read her thoughts and, already half consoled by Dounia’s