I had a silly idea in my head when I told you to come today; I wanted to find out from you about Mitya. If I were to hand him over a thousand or maybe two now, would the beggarly wretch agree to take himself off altogether for five years or, better still, thirty-five, and without Grushenka, and give her up once for all, eh?”
“I—I’ll ask him,” muttered Alyosha. “If you would give him three thousand, perhaps he—”
“That’s nonsense! You needn’t ask him now, no need! I’ve changed my mind. It was a nonsensical idea of mine. I won’t give him anything, not a penny, I want my money myself,” cried the old man, waving his hand. “I’ll crush him like a beetle without it. Don’t say anything to him or else he will begin hoping. There’s nothing for you to do here, you needn’t stay. Is that betrothed of his, Katerina Ivanovna, whom he has kept so carefully hidden from me all this time, going to marry him or not? You went to see her yesterday, I believe?”
“Nothing will induce her to abandon him.”
“There you see how dearly these fine young ladies love a rake and a scoundrel. They are poor creatures I tell you, those pale young ladies, very different from—Ah, if I had his youth and the looks I had then (for I was better-looking than he at eight and twenty) I’d have been a conquering hero just as he is. He is a low cad! But he shan’t have Grushenka, anyway, he shan’t! I’ll crush him!”
His anger had returned with the last words.
“You can go. There’s nothing for you to do here today,” he snapped harshly.
Alyosha went up to say goodbye to him, and kissed him on the shoulder.
“What’s that for?” The old man was a little surprised. “We shall see each other again, or do you think we shan’t?”