“He has the right—the right—” murmured Burdovsky.
“Excuse me, prince, but what are your arrangements?” asked Lebedeff, tipsy and exasperated, going up to Muishkin.
“What do you mean by ‘arrangements’?”
“No, no, excuse me! I’m master of this house, though I do not wish to lack respect towards you. You are master of the house too, in a way; but I can’t allow this sort of thing—”
“He won’t shoot himself; the boy is only playing the fool,” said General Ivolgin, suddenly and unexpectedly, with indignation.
“I know he won’t, I know he won’t, general; but I—I’m master here!”
“Listen, Mr. Terentieff,” said Ptitsin, who had bidden the prince good night, and was now holding out his hand to Hippolyte; “I think you remark in that manuscript of yours, that