Namely, our friend Liputin turned up. He called on Nikolai Vsevolodovich immediately after his talk with his mama, and earnestly requested the honor of his presence that same evening at a party on the occasion of his wife's birthday. Varvara Petrovna had long looked with a shudder at the low orientation of Nikolai Vsevolodovich's acquaintances, but never dared to remark on it. He had already struck up several other acquaintances in this third-rate stratum of our society, and even lower—but such was his inclination. However, he had not yet visited Liputin's house, though he had met Liputin himself. He realized that Liputin was inviting him as a result of the scandal in the club the day before, that as a local liberal he was delighted by the scandal, sincerely thought it was the proper way to treat senior club members, and that it was all very good. Nikolai Vsevolodovich laughed and promised to come.
Many guests assembled; they were unsightly but rollicksome people. The vain and jealous Liputin invited guests only twice a year, but on those occasions he did not stint. The most honored guest, Stepan Trofimovich, did not come for reason of illness. Tea was served; there was an abundance of appetizers and vodka; cards were being played at three tables, and while waiting for supper the young people started dancing to the piano. Nikolai Vsevolodovich chose Madame Liputin—a very pretty little lady, who was terribly shy of him—took two turns with her, sat down beside her, made her talk, made her laugh. Finally, after remarking on how pretty she was when she laughed, he suddenly put his arm around her waist, in front of all the guests, and kissed her on the lips, three times in a row, to the full of his heart's content. The poor frightened woman fainted. Nikolai Vsevolodovich took his hat, went up to her husband, who stood dumbstruck amid the general commotion, looked at him, became confused himself, muttered hastily "Don't be angry," and walked out. Liputin ran after him to the front hall, helped him into his fur coat with his own hands, and, bowing, saw him down the stairs. And the very next day there came a rather amusing addition to this, comparatively speaking, essentially innocent story—an addition which thereafter even brought Liputin a sort of honor, which he was able to exploit to his full advantage.
Around ten o'clock in the morning, Liputin's servant Agafya, a bold, pert, and red-cheeked wench of about thirty, appeared at Mrs. Stavrogin's house, sent by him with a message for Nikolai Vsevolodovich, saying she absolutely had "to see the master himself, ma'am." He had a very bad headache, but he came out. Varvara Petrovna managed to be present when the message was delivered.
"Sergei Vasilyich" (that is, Liputin), Agafya rattled out pertly, "asked me first of all to bring you his greetings and inquire about your health, sir, how you slept yesterday, and how you feel now after yesterday, sir."
Nikolai Vsevolodovich grinned.
"Bring him my greetings and thanks, and tell your master from me, Agafya, that he is the most intelligent man in the whole town."
"And he told me to answer you on that," Agafya picked up even more pertly, "that he knows it even without you, and he wishes you the same, sir."
"Well, now! And how could he have found out what I was going to tell you?"
"I really don't know what way he found out, sir, but when I'd left and was already at the other end of the lane, I heard him running after me without his cap, sir. 'Agafyushka,' he said, 'if it perhappens he says to you: "Tell your master he's the smartest man in town," then be sure to say at once: "We know that ver-ry well ourselves, and the same to you, sir...”‘“
III
The talk with the governor also finally took place. Our dear, mild Ivan Osipovich had just returned and had just had time to hear the club's hot complaint. Without a doubt something had to be done, but he was perplexed. Our hospitable old man also seemed a bit afraid of his young relative. He decided, however, to persuade him to apologize to the club and to the offended man, but in satisfactory form, and if necessary even in writing, and then gently talk him into leaving us and going to Italy, say, for the interest of it, or generally somewhere abroad. In the reception room, where he came out this time to meet Nikolai Vsevolodovich (who on other occasions, as a relative, wandered freely all over the house), the well-bred Alyosha Telyatnikov, an official and also a familiar of the governor's house, was opening envelopes in the corner at a table; and in the next room, by the window nearest the door, a visitor had placed himself, a fat and healthy colonel, a friend and former colleague of Ivan Osipovich's, who was reading the Voice,paying no attention, of course, to what was going on in the reception room; he even sat with his back turned. Ivan Osipovich began in a roundabout way, almost in a whisper, but kept getting slightly confused. Nicolas had an ungracious look, not at all like a relative, was pale, sat staring at the floor, and listened with knitted brows, as if overcoming great pain.
"You have a kind heart, Nicolas, and a noble one," the old man included among other things, "you are quite an educated man, you have moved in the highest circles, and here, too, your behavior up to now has been exemplary and you have set at ease the heart of your mother, who is dear to us all. . . And now everything has again taken on a coloring so mysterious and dangerous for everyone! I speak as a friend of your family, as an elderly man who is your relative and loves you sincerely, in whom you can take no offense... Tell me, what prompts you to such unbridled acts, so beyond all convention and measure? What might be the meaning of such escapades, as if in delirium?"
Nicolas listened with vexation and impatience. Suddenly something as if sly and mocking flashed in his eyes.
"Perhaps I'll tell you what prompts me," he said sullenly, and, looking around, he leaned towards Ivan Osipovich's ear. The well-bred Alyosha Telyatnikov withdrew another three steps towards the window, and the colonel coughed over the Voice.Poor Ivan Osipovich hastily and trustfully offered his ear; he was an extremely curious man. And here something utterly impossible occurred, which, on the other hand, was all too clear in one respect. The old man suddenly felt that, instead of whispering some interesting secret to him, Nicolas had suddenly caught the upper part of his ear in his teeth and clamped it quite firmly. He trembled and his breath failed.
"Is this a joke, Nicolas?" he moaned mechanically, in a voice not his own.
Alyosha and the colonel had no time to realize anything; besides, they could not see and thought all along that the two were whispering to each other; and yet the old man's desperate face worried them. They looked goggle-eyed at each other, not knowing whether to rush to his assistance, as agreed, or to wait longer. Nicolas noticed it, perhaps, and bit harder on the ear.
"Nicolas! Nicolas!" the victim moaned again, "so... you've had your joke, that's enough..."
Another moment and the poor man would, of course, have died of fright; but the monster had mercy on him and released his ear. This whole mortal terror lasted a full minute, and after it the old man had a sort of fit. But half an hour later Nicolas was arrested and taken for the time being to the guardhouse, where he was locked in a separate cell with a separate guard at the door. The decision was a harsh one, but our mild superior was so angry that he decided to take the responsibility upon himself even in the face of Varvara Petrovna. To the general amazement, this lady, who arrived at the governor's in haste and displeasure for an immediate explanation, was turned away at the porch; whereupon, without getting out of the carriage, she went back home, hardly able to believe it herself.