been to see us for so long, Pavel Fyodorovitch? Why do you always look down upon us?”
“Not at all,” answered a man’s voice politely, but with emphatic dignity. It was clear that the man had the best of the position, and that the woman was making advances.
“I believe the man must be Smerdyakov,” thought Alyosha, “from his voice. And the lady must be the daughter of the house here, who has come from Moscow, the one who wears the dress with a tail and goes to Marfa for soup.”
“I am awfully fond of verses of all kinds, if they rhyme,” the woman’s voice continued. “Why don’t you go on?”
The man sang again:
What do I care for royal wealth If but my dear one be in health? Lord have mercy On her and on me! On her and on me! On her and on me!
“It was even better last time,” observed the woman’s voice. “You sang ‘If my