“Then is he at Duhovo now?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch broke in suddenly, making a sudden start forward and almost leaping up from his seat.
“No, he drove me here this morning, we returned together,” said Pyotr Stepanovitch, appearing not to notice Stavrogin's momentary excitement. “What's this? I dropped a book.” He bent down to pick up the “keepsake” he had knocked down. The Women of Balzac,' with illustrations.” He opened it suddenly. “I haven't read it. Lembke writes novels too.”
“Yes?” queried Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, as though beginning to be interested.
“In Russian, on the sly, of course, Yulia Mihailovna knows and allows it. He's henpecked, but with good manners; it's their system. Such strict form — such self-restraint! Something of the sort would be the thing for us.”
“You approve of government methods?”
“I should rather think so! It's the one thing that's natural and practicable in Russia. ... I won't ... I won't,” he cried out suddenly, “I'm not referring to that — not a word on delicate subjects. Good-bye, though, you look rather green.”
“I'm feverish.”
“I can well believe it; you should go to bed. By the way, there are Skoptsi here in the neighbourhood — they're curious people ... of that later, though. Ah, here's another anecdote. There's an infantry regiment here in the district. I was drinking last Friday evening with the officers. We've three friends among them, vous comprenez? They were discussing atheism and I need hardly say they made short work of God. They were squealing with delight. By the way, Shatov declares that if there's to be a rising in Russia we must begin with atheism. Maybe it's true. One grizzled old stager of a captain sat mum, not saying a word. All at once he stands up in the middle of the' room and says aloud, as though speaking to himself: 'If there's no God, how can I be a captain then?' He took up His cap and went out, flinging up his hands.”
“He expressed a rather sensible idea,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, yawning for the third time.
“Yes? I didn't understand it; I meant to ask you about it. Well what else have I to tell you? The Shpigulin factory's interesting; as you know, there are five hundred workmen in it, it's a hotbed of cholera, it's not been cleaned for fifteen years and the factory hands are swindled. The owners are millionaires. I assure you that some among the hands have an idea of the Internationale,. What, you smile? You'll see — only give me ever so little time! I've asked you to fix the time already and now I ask you again and then. . . . But I beg your pardon, I won't, I won't speak of that, don't frown. There!” He turned back suddenly. “I quite forgot the chief thing. I was told just now that our box had come from Petersburg.”
“You mean ...” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him, not understanding.
“Your box, your things, coats, trousers, and linen have come. Is it true?”
“Yes . . . they said something about it this morning.”
“Ach, then can't I open it at once! . . .”
“Ask Alexey.”
“Well, to-morrow, then, will to-morrow do? You see my new jacket, dress-coat and three pair's of trousers are with your things, from Sharmer's, by your recommendation, do you remember?”
“I hear you're going in for being a gentleman here,” said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch with a smile. “Is it true you're going to take lessons at the riding school?”
Pyotr Stepanovitch smiled a wry smile. “I say,” he said suddenly, with excessive haste in a voice that quivered and faltered, “I say, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, let's drop personalities once for all. Of course, you can despise me as much as you like if it amuses you — but we'd better dispense with personalities for a time, hadn't we?”
“All right,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch assented.
Pyotr Stepanovitch grinned, tapped his knee with his hat, shifted from one leg to the other, and recovered his former expression.
“Some people here positively look upon me as your rival with Lizaveta Nikolaevna, so I must think of my appearance, mustn't I,” he laughed. “Who was it told you that though? H'm. It's just eight o'clock; well I must be off. I promised to look in on Varvara Petrovna, but I shall make my escape. And you go to bed and you'll be stronger to-morrow. It's raining and dark, but I've a cab, it's not over safe in the streets here at night. . . . Ach, by the way, there's a run-away convict from Siberia, Fedka, wandering about the town and the neighbourhood. Only fancy, he used to be a serf of mine, and my papa sent him for a soldier fifteen years ago and took the money for him. He's a very remarkable person.”
“You have been talking to him?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch scanned him.
“I have. He lets me know where he is. He's ready for anything, anything, for money of course, but he has convictions, too, of a sort, of course. Oh yes, by the way, again, if you meant anything of that plan, you remember, about Lizaveta Nikolaevna, I tell you once again, I too am a fellow ready for anything of any kind you like, and absolutely at your service. ... Hullo! are you reaching for your stick. Oh no ... only fancy ... I thought you were looking for your stick.”
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was looking for nothing and said nothing.
But he had risen to his feet very suddenly with a strange look in his face.
“If you want any help about Mr. Gaganov either,” Pyotr Stepanovitch blurted out suddenly, this time looking straight at the paper-weight, “of course I can arrange it all, and I'm certain you won't be able to manage without me.”
He went out suddenly without waiting for an answer, but thrust his head in at the door once more. “I mention that,” he gabbled hurriedly, “because Shatov had no right either, you know, to risk his life last Sunday when he attacked you, had he? I should be glad if you would make a note of that.” He disappeared again without waiting for an answer.
IV
Perhaps he imagined, as he made his exit, that as soon as he was left alone, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch would begin beating on the wall with his fists, and no doubt he would have been glad to see this, if that had been possible. But, if so, he was greatly mistaken. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was still calm. He remained standing for two minutes in the same position by the table, apparently plunged in thought, but soon a cold and listless smile came on to his lips. He slowly sat down again in the same place in the corner of the sofa, and shut his eyes as though from weariness. The corner of the letter was still peeping from under the paperweight, but he didn't even move to cover it.
He soon sank into complete forgetfulness.
When Pyotr Stepanovitch went out without coming to see her, as he had promised, Varvara Petrovna, who had been worn out by anxiety during these days, could not control herself, and ventured to visit her son herself, though it was not her regular time. She was still haunted by the idea that he would tell her something conclusive. She knocked at the door gently as before, and again receiving no answer, she opened the door. Seeing that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting strangely motionless, she cautiously advanced to the sofa with a throbbing heart. She seemed struck by the fact that he could fall asleep so quickly and that he could sleep sitting like that, so erect and motionless, so that his breathing even was scarcely perceptible. His face was pale and forbidding, but it looked, as it were, numb and rigid. His brows were somewhat contracted and frowning. He positively had the look of a lifeless wax figure. She stood over him for about three minutes, almost holding her breath, and suddenly she was seized with terror. She withdrew on tiptoe, stopped at the door, hurriedly made the sign of the cross over him, and retreated unobserved, with a new oppression and a new anguish at her heart.