"I know that finally I alone will remain with you, and... I'm waiting for that."
"And what if I don't finally call you, but run away from you?"
"That cannot be. You will call."
"There's much contempt for me there." "You know it's not just contempt."
"So there is still contempt?"
"I didn't put it right. God be my witness, I wish very much that you should never have need of me."
"One phrase is worth another. I also wish not to ruin you."
"Nothing you do can ever ruin me, and you know it better than anyone else," Darya Pavlovna said quickly and firmly. "If it's not you, I'll become a sister of mercy, or a sick-nurse, or a book-hawker and sell Gospels. I've decided it so. I can't be anyone's wife; I can't live in a house like this either; that's not what I want. . . You know all that."
"No, I never could discover what you wanted; it seems to me that you're interested in me in the same way as certain antiquated sick-nurses for some reason take an interest in some one patient as opposed to all the others, or, better still, the way certain pious old women who hang about at funerals prefer certain nice little corpses that are comelier than the others. Why are you looking at me so strangely?"
"Are you very sick?" she asked sympathetically, looking at him in some special way. "Oh, God! And this man wants to do without me!"
"Listen, Dasha! I keep seeing ghosts now. Yesterday, on the bridge, one little demon offered to put a knife into Lebyadkin and Marya Timofeevna for me, to do away with my lawful marriage and cover the traces. He asked for three roubles down, but let me know plainly that the whole operation would cost not less than fifteen hundred. There's a calculating demon for you! A bookkeeper! Ha, ha!"
"But you're quite certain it was a ghost?"
"Oh, no, it wasn't a ghost at all! It was simply Fedka the Convict, a robber who escaped from hard labor. But that's not the point: what do you think I did? I gave him all the money I had in my wallet, and now he's quite certain I've given him his down payment."
"You met him at night, and he made you such an offer? But don't you see that you're all entangled in their net!"
"Well, never mind them. You know, you've got a question on the tip of your tongue, I can see by your eyes," he added, with a spiteful and irritated smile.
Dasha became frightened.
"There isn't any question, and there aren't any doubts whatever, you'd better keep still!" she cried anxiously, as if waving his question away.
"So you're sure I won't go shopping at Fedka's?"
"Oh, God!" she clasped her hands, "why do you torment me so?"
"Well, forgive me my stupid joke, I must be acquiring their bad manners. You know, since last night I've wanted terribly to laugh, to laugh all the time, constantly, long, loud. It's as if I'm charged with laughter... Sh! Mother's come back; I can tell the clatter of her carriage when it stops at the porch."
Dasha seized his hand.
"May God preserve you from your dark spirit, and... call me, call me soon!"
"Oh, he's no dark spirit! He's simply a nasty, scrofulous little demon with a runny nose, a failure. And you, Dasha, again there's something you don't dare say?"
She looked at him with pain and reproach, and turned towards the door.
"Listen!" he shouted after her with a spiteful, twisted smile. "If... well, in short, if... you understand, well, even if I did go shopping, and called you after that—would you still come, after that shopping?"
She went out without turning or answering, covering her face with her hands.
"She'll come even after that shopping!" he whispered, having thought a moment, with a look of scornful disgust. "A sick-nurse! Hm! ... However, that may be just what I need."
4: All in Expectation
1
The impression produced in our whole society by the story of the duel, which quickly became public, was especially remarkable for the unanimity with which everyone hastened to declare himself unconditionally for Nikolai Vsevolodovich. Many of his former enemies resolutely proclaimed themselves his friends. The main reason for such an unexpected turnabout in public opinion was a few words, spoken aloud with unusual aptness by a certain person who until then had not spoken, which all at once gave the event a significance that greatly interested our vast majority. This is how it happened: the very next day after the event, the whole town gathered to celebrate the name day of the wife of our provincial marshal of nobility. Yulia Mikhailovna was also present, or, rather, presided, having arrived with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, who shone with beauty and a special gaiety, which this time many of our ladies at once found especially suspicious. Incidentally, there could no longer be any doubts about her engagement to Mavriky Nikolaevich. That evening, to the jocular question of one retired but important general, of whom more will be said later, Lizaveta Nikolaevna herself answered directly that she was engaged. And what do you think? Decidedly none of our ladies wanted to believe in this engagement. They all stubbornly continued to suppose some romance, some fatal family secret that had taken place in Switzerland, and for some reason necessarily with Yulia Mikhailovna's participation. It is hard to say why all these rumors, or even, so to speak, dreams, held out so stubbornly, or precisely why it was so necessary to drag Yulia Mikhailovna into it. As soon as she entered, everyone turned to her with strange looks, overflowing with expectations. It must be noted that in view of the recentness of the event and certain accompanying circumstances, it was still being spoken of somewhat cautiously that evening, and not aloud. Besides, nothing was known yet about the orders of the authorities.[106] Neither duelist, as far as anyone knew, had been inconvenienced. Everyone knew, for example, that Artemy Pavlovich had gone to his Dukhovo estate early in the morning without any hindrance. Meanwhile, everyone was certainly longing for someone to be the first to speak out and thereby open the door for public impatience. They placed their hopes precisely in the above-mentioned general, and were not mistaken.
This general, one of the stateliest members of our club, a landowner of no very great wealth but of an incomparable turn of mind, an old-fashioned dangler after young ladies, was, among other things, extremely fond of speaking out in large gatherings, with a general's weightiness, precisely about things which everyone was still speaking of in cautious whispers. It was as if this constituted his specific role, so to speak, in our society. In doing so, he drew his words out especially, with a sugary enunciation, a habit he had probably borrowed from Russians traveling abroad, or from those formerly wealthy Russian landowners who had been most ruined by the peasant reform. Stepan Trofimovich even noted once that the more ruined a landowner was, the more sugarily he lisped and drew out his words. He himself, however, had the same sugary drawl and lisp, without noticing it in himself.
The general began speaking as a man of competence. Besides the fact that he was some sort of distant relation of Artemy Pavlovich's, though on bad terms and even at law with him, he had, moreover, fought two duels in the past, for one of which he had even been exiled to the ranks in the Caucasus. Someone mentioned Varvara Petrovna, that it was two days now since she had begun going out "after an illness," or not her, properly speaking, but the excellent match of her gray four-in-hand, from the Stavrogins' own stud. The general suddenly remarked that he had met "young Stavrogin" on horseback that day... Everyone fell silent at once. The general smacked his lips and suddenly declared, twiddling in his fingers a gold presentation snuffbox:
"I regret that I wasn't here a few years ago—I mean, that I was in Karlsbad... Hm. I'm very interested in this young man, of whom I then found so many rumors. Hm. And what, is it true that he's crazy? Someone said so at the time. Suddenly I'm told that some student here insulted him in the presence of his cousins, and that he hid from him under the table; then yesterday I heard from Stepan Vysotsky that Stavrogin fought with this... Gaganov. And solely with the gallant purpose of offering his forehead to an enraged man; just to get rid of him. Hm. That's the style of the Guard in the twenties. Does he call on anyone here?"