“ ’Tis he, ’tis he!” he said at last, quietly, but with much solemnity. “As though he were alive once more. I heard the familiar name⁠—the dear familiar name⁠—and, oh! how it reminded me of the irrevocable past⁠—Prince Muishkin, I believe?”

“Exactly so.”

“General Ivolgin⁠—retired and unfortunate. May I ask your Christian and generic names?”

“Lef Nicolaievitch.”

“So, so⁠—the son of my old, I may say my childhood’s friend, Nicolai Petrovitch.”

“My father’s name was Nicolai Lvovitch.”

“Lvovitch,” repeated the general without the slightest haste, and with perfect confidence, just as though he had not committed himself the least in the world, but merely made a little slip of the tongue. He sat down, and taking the prince’s hand, drew him to a seat next to himself.