next! Let him talk! People talk, why hinder them? It makes it cheerful,” Grushenka said crossly.
“I’m not hindering them, pani ,” said the Pole in the wig, with a long look at Grushenka, and relapsing into dignified silence he sucked his pipe again.
“No, no. The Polish gentleman spoke the truth.” Kalganov got excited again, as though it were a question of vast import. “He’s never been in Poland, so how can he talk about it? I suppose you weren’t married in Poland, were you?”
“No, in the Province of Smolensk. Only, a Uhlan had brought her to Russia before that, my future wife, with her mamma and her aunt, and another female relation with a grownup son. He brought her straight from Poland and gave her up to me. He was a lieutenant in our regiment, a very nice young man. At first he meant to marry her himself. But he didn’t marry her, because she turned out to be lame.”
“So you married a lame woman?” cried Kalganov.
“Yes. They both deceived me a little bit at the time, and concealed it. I thought she was hopping; she kept hopping. … I thought it was for fun.”
“So pleased she was going to marry you!” yelled Kalganov, in a ringing, childish voice.
“Yes, so pleased. But it turned out to be quite a different cause. Afterwards, when we were married, after the wedding, that very evening, she confessed, and very touchingly asked forgiveness.
‘I once jumped over a puddle when I was a child,’ she said, ‘and injured my leg.’ He he!”
Kalganov went off into the most childish laughter, almost falling on the sofa. Grushenka, too, laughed. Mitya