She really meant it. She pulled a white cambric handkerchief out of her pocket, and took it by one corner in her right hand, to wave it in the dance. Mitya ran to and fro, the girls were quiet, and got ready to break into a dancing song at the first signal. Maximov, hearing that Grushenka wanted to dance, squealed with delight, and ran skipping about in front of her, humming:
With legs so slim and sides so trim And its little tail curled tight.
But Grushenka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away.
“Sh-h! Mitya, why don’t they come? Let everyone come … to look on. Call them in, too, that were locked in. … Why did you lock them in? Tell them I’m going to dance. Let them look on, too. …”
Mitya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door, and began knocking to the Poles with his fist.
“Hi, you … Podvysotskys! Come, she’s going to dance. She calls you.”
“ Łajdak! ” one of the Poles shouted in reply.
“You’re a łajdak yourself! You’re a little scoundrel, that’s what you are.”
“Leave off laughing at Poland,” said Kalganov sententiously. He too was drunk.
“Be quiet, boy! If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn’t mean that I called all Poland so. One łajdak doesn’t make a Poland. Be quiet, my pretty boy, eat a sweetmeat.”