Can you?”
“Of course I can. I’ve known Fyodor Pavlovitch a long time.”
“And here’s something for you, for I dare say he won’t give you anything,” said Ivan, laughing gayly.
“You may depend on it he won’t.”
Mitya laughed too. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to do it.”
At seven o’clock Ivan got into the train and set off to Moscow.
“Away with the past. I’ve done with the old world forever, and may I have no news, no echo, from it. To a new life, new places and no looking back!”
But instead of delight his soul was filled with such gloom, and his heart ached with such anguish, as he had never known in his life before. He was thinking all the night. The train flew on, and only at daybreak, when he was approaching Moscow, he suddenly roused himself from his meditation.
“I am a scoundrel,” he whispered to himself.
Fyodor Pavlovitch remained well satisfied at having seen his