“What have you done, indeed?” put in Nina Alexandrovna. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, teasing an old man like that—and in your position, too.”
“And pray what is my position, madame? I have the greatest respect for you, personally; but—”
“He’s a little screw,” cried the general; “he drills holes in my heart and soul. He wishes me to be a pervert to atheism. Know, you young greenhorn, that I was covered with honours before ever you were born; and you are nothing better than a wretched little worm, torn in two with coughing, and dying slowly of your own malice and unbelief. What did Gavrila bring you over here for? They’re all against me, even to my own son—all against me.”
“Oh, come—nonsense!” cried Gania; “if you did not go shaming us all over the town, things might be better for all parties.”
“What—shame you? I?—what do you mean, you young calf? I shame you? I can only do you honour, sir; I cannot shame you.”
He jumped up from his chair in a fit of uncontrollable rage. Gania was very angry too.
“Honour, indeed!” said the latter, with contempt.
“What do you say, sir?” growled the general, taking a step towards him.
“I say that I have but to open my mouth, and you—”
Gania began, but did not finish. The two—father and son—stood before one another, both unspeakably agitated, especially Gania.
“Gania, Gania, reflect!” cried his mother, hurriedly.