against you, that I will not let it pass. Kindly leave me at once. … I am a mother. … I … I—”
“Murder! then he tried to murder you, too?”
“Why, has he killed somebody else?” Madame Hohlakov asked impulsively.
“If you would kindly listen, madam, for half a moment, I’ll explain it all in a couple of words,” answered Perhotin, firmly.
“At five o’clock this afternoon Dmitri Fyodorovitch borrowed ten roubles from me, and I know for a fact he had no money. Yet at nine o’clock, he came to see me with a bundle of hundred-rouble notes in his hand, about two or three thousand roubles. His hands and face were all covered with blood, and he looked like a madman. When I asked him where he had got so much money, he answered that he had just received it from you, that you had given him a sum of three thousand to go to the goldmines. …”
Madame Hohlakov’s face assumed an expression of intense and painful excitement.
“Good God! He must have killed his old father!” she cried, clasping her hands. “I have never given him money, never! Oh, run, run! … Don’t say another word! Save the old man … run to his father … run!”
“Excuse me, madam, then you did not give him money? You remember for a fact that you did not give him any money?”
“No, I didn’t, I didn’t! I refused to give it him, for he could not appreciate it. He ran out in a fury, stamping. He rushed at me, but I slipped away. … And let me tell you, as I wish to hide nothing from you now, that he positively spat at me. Can you fancy