Kirillov was sitting on his leather sofa drinking tea, as he always was at that hour. He did not get up to meet them, but gave a sort of start and looked at the newcomers anxiously.

“You are not mistaken,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, “it’s just that I’ve come about.”

“Today?”

“No, no, tomorrow⁠ ⁠… about this time.” And he hurriedly sat down at the table, watching Kirillov’s agitation with some uneasiness. But the latter had already regained his composure and looked as usual.

“These people still refuse to believe in you. You are not vexed at my bringing Liputin?”

“Today I am not vexed; tomorrow I want to be alone.”

“But not before I come, and therefore in my presence.”

“I should prefer not in your presence.”