“Bah! you, too, have ideals,” he muttered, looking at her almost with hatred, and smiling sarcastically. “I ought to have considered that.⁠ ⁠… Well, that’s praiseworthy, and it’s better for you⁠ ⁠… and if you reach a line you won’t overstep, you will be unhappy⁠ ⁠… and if you overstep it, maybe you will be still unhappier.⁠ ⁠… But all that’s nonsense,” he added irritably, vexed at being carried away. “I only meant to say that I beg your forgiveness, mother,” he concluded, shortly and abruptly.

“That’s enough, Rodya, I am sure that everything you do is very good,” said his mother, delighted.

“Don’t be too sure,” he answered, twisting his mouth into a smile.

A silence followed. There was a certain constraint in all this conversation, and in the silence, and in the reconciliation, and in the forgiveness, and all were feeling it.