“Gentlemen, I was the cause of it all,” Mitya began again, unable to make anything of Grushenka’s words. “Come, why are we sitting here? What shall we do … to amuse ourselves again?”
“Ach, it’s certainly anything but amusing!” Kalganov mumbled lazily.
“Let’s play faro again, as we did just now,” Maximov tittered suddenly.
“Faro? Splendid!” cried Mitya. “If only the panovie —”
“It’s lite, panovie ,” the Pole on the sofa responded, as it were unwillingly.
“That’s true,” assented Pan Vrublevsky.
“Lite? What do you mean by ‘lite’?” asked Grushenka.
“Late, pani ! ‘a late hour’ I mean,” the Pole on the sofa explained.
“It’s always late with them. They can never do anything!” Grushenka almost shrieked in her anger. “They’re dull themselves, so they want others to be dull. Before you came, Mitya, they were just as silent and kept turning up their noses at me.”
“My goddess!” cried the Pole on the sofa, “I see you’re not well-disposed to me, that’s why I’m gloomy. I’m ready, panie ,” added he, addressing Mitya.
“Begin, panie ,” Mitya assented, pulling his notes out of his pocket, and laying two hundred-rouble notes on the table. “I want to lose a lot to you. Take your cards. Make the bank.”
“We’ll have cards from the landlord, panie ,” said the little Pole, gravely and emphatically.
“That’s much the best way,” chimed in Pan Vrublevsky.