“Because I don’t. Hang it, come away. That’s why. I won’t let you go on playing.”
Mitya gazed at him in astonishment.
“Give it up, Mitya. He may be right. You’ve lost a lot as it is,” said Grushenka, with a curious note in her voice. Both the Poles rose from their seats with a deeply offended air.
“Are you joking, panie ?” said the short man, looking severely at Kalganov.
“How dare you!” Pan Vrublevsky, too, growled at Kalganov.
“Don’t dare to shout like that,” cried Grushenka. “Ah, you turkey-cocks!”
Mitya looked at each of them in turn. But something in Grushenka’s face suddenly struck him, and at the same instant something new flashed into his mind—a strange new thought!
“ Pani Agrippina,” the little Pole was beginning, crimson with anger, when Mitya suddenly went up to him and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Most illustrious, two words with you.”
“What do you want?”
“In the next room, I’ve two words to say to you, something pleasant, very pleasant. You’ll be glad to hear it.”
The little pan was taken aback and looked apprehensively at Mitya. He agreed at once, however, on condition that Pan Vrublevsky went with them.
“The bodyguard? Let him come, and I want him, too. I must have him!” cried Mitya. “March, panovie !”