“Where are you going?” asked Grushenka, anxiously.
“We’ll be back in one moment,” answered Mitya.
There was a sort of boldness, a sudden confidence shining in his eyes. His face had looked very different when he entered the room an hour before.
He led the Poles, not into the large room where the chorus of girls was assembling and the table was being laid, but into the bedroom on the right, where the trunks and packages were kept, and there were two large beds, with pyramids of cotton pillows on each. There was a lighted candle on a small deal table in the corner. The small man and Mitya sat down to this table, facing each other, while the huge Vrublevsky stood beside them, his hands behind his back. The Poles looked severe but were evidently inquisitive.
“What can I do for you, panie ?” lisped the little Pole.
“Well, look here, panie , I won’t keep you long. There’s money for you,” he pulled out his notes. “Would you like three thousand? Take it and go your way.”
The Pole gazed open-eyed at Mitya, with a searching look.
“Three thousand, panie ?” He exchanged glances with Vrublevsky.
“Three, panovie , three! Listen, panie , I see you’re a sensible man. Take three thousand and go to the devil, and Vrublevsky with you—d’you hear? But, at once, this very minute, and forever. You understand that, panie , forever. Here’s the door, you go out of it. What have you got there, a greatcoat, a fur coat? I’ll bring it out to you. They’ll get the horses out directly, and then—goodbye, panie !”
Mitya awaited an answer with assurance. He had no doubts. An expression of extraordinary resolution passed over the Pole’s face.