'Will you give me the money or not? I ask you!'
'Tell me openly: what does he want money for?
'It's not a secret; he wants to go to Petersburg on Saturday.'
'So that is it!' Von Koren drawled out. 'Aha! . . . We understand.
And is she going with him, or how is it to be?'
'She's staying here for the time. He'll arrange his affairs in
Petersburg and send her the money, and then she'll go.'
'That's smart!' said the zoologist, and he gave a short tenor laugh.
'Smart, well planned.'
He went rapidly up to Samoylenko, and standing face to face with him, and looking him in the eyes, asked: 'Tell me now honestly: is he tired of her? Yes? tell me: is he tired of her? Yes?'
'Yes,' Samoylenko articulated, beginning to perspire.
'How repulsive it is!' said Von Koren, and from his face it could be seen that he felt repulsion. 'One of two things, Alexandr Daviditch: either you are in the plot with him, or, excuse my saying so, you are a simpleton. Surely you must see that he is taking you in like a child in the most shameless way? Why, it's as clear as day that he wants to get rid of her and abandon her here. She'll be left a burden on you. It is as clear as day that you will have to send her to Petersburg at your expense. Surely your fine friend can't have so blinded you by his dazzling qualities that you can't see the simplest thing?'
'That's all supposition,' said Samoylenko, sitting down.
'Supposition? But why is he going alone instead of taking her with him? And ask him why he doesn't send her off first. The sly beast!'
Overcome with sudden doubts and suspicions about his friend,
Samoylenko weakened and took a humbler tone.
'But it's impossible,' he said, recalling the night Laevsky had spent at his house. 'He is so unhappy!'
'What of that? Thieves and incendiaries are unhappy too!'
'Even supposing you are right . . .' said Samoylenko, hesitating. 'Let us admit it. . . . Still, he's a young man in a strange place . . . a student. We have been students, too, and there is no one but us to come to his assistance.'
'To help him to do abominable things, because he and you at different times have been at universities, and neither of you did anything there! What nonsense!'
'Stop; let us talk it over coolly. I imagine it will be possible to make some arrangement. . . .' Samoylenko reflected, twiddling his fingers. 'I'll give him the money, you see, but make him promise on his honour that within a week he'll send Nadyezhda Fyodorovna the money for the journey.'
'And he'll give you his word of honour—in fact, he'll shed tears and believe in it himself; but what's his word of honour worth? He won't keep it, and when in a year or two you meet him on the Nevsky Prospect with a new mistress on his arm, he'll excuse himself on the ground that he has been crippled by civilisation, and that he is made after the pattern of Rudin. Drop him, for God's sake! Keep away from the filth; don't stir it up with both hands!'
Samoylenko thought for a minute and said resolutely:
'But I shall give him the money all the same. As you please. I can't bring myself to refuse a man simply on an assumption.'
'Very fine, too. You can kiss him if you like.'
'Give me the hundred roubles, then,' Samoylenko asked timidly.
'I won't.'
A silence followed. Samoylenko was quite crushed; his face wore a guilty, abashed, and ingratiating expression, and it was strange to see this pitiful, childish, shamefaced countenance on a huge man wearing epaulettes and orders of merit.
'The bishop here goes the round of his diocese on horseback instead of in a carriage,' said the deacon, laying down his pen. 'It's extremely touching to see him sit on his horse. His simplicity and humility are full of Biblical grandeur.'
'Is he a good man?' asked Von Koren, who was glad to change the conversation.
'Of course! If he hadn't been a good man, do you suppose he would have been consecrated a bishop?'
'Among the bishops are to be found good and gifted men,' said Von Koren. 'The only drawback is that some of them have the weakness to imagine themselves statesmen. One busies himself with Russification, another criticises the sciences. That's not their business. They had much better look into their consistory a little.'
'A layman cannot judge of bishops.'
'Why so, deacon? A bishop is a man just the same as you or I.'
'The same, but not the same.' The deacon was offended and took up his pen. 'If you had been the same, the Divine Grace would have rested upon you, and you would have been bishop yourself; and since you are not bishop, it follows you are not the same.'
'Don't talk nonsense, deacon,' said Samoylenko dejectedly. 'Listen to what I suggest,' he said, turning to Von Koren. 'Don't give me that hundred roubles. You'll be having your dinners with me for three months before the winter, so let me have the money beforehand for three months.'
'I won't.'
Samoylenko blinked and turned crimson; he mechanically drew towards him the book with the spider on it and looked at it, then he got up and took his hat.
Von Koren felt sorry for him.
'What it is to have to live and do with people like this,' said the zoologist, and he kicked a paper into the corner with indignation. 'You must understand that this is not kindness, it is not love, but cowardice, slackness, poison! What's gained by reason is lost by your flabby good-for-nothing hearts! When I was ill with typhoid as a schoolboy, my aunt in her sympathy gave me pickled mushrooms to eat, and I very nearly died. You, and my aunt too, must understand that love for man is not to be found in the heart or the stomach or the bowels, but here!'
Von Koren slapped himself on the forehead.
'Take it,' he said, and thrust a hundred-rouble note into his hand.
'You've no need to be angry, Kolya,' said Samoylenko mildly, folding up the note. 'I quite understand you, but . . . you must put yourself in my place.'
'You are an old woman, that's what you are.'
The deacon burst out laughing.
'Hear my last request, Alexandr Daviditch,' said Von Koren hotly. 'When you give that scoundrel the money, make it a condition that he takes his lady with him, or sends her on ahead, and don't give it him without. There's no need to stand on ceremony with him. Tell him so, or, if you don't, I give you my word I'll go to his office and kick him downstairs, and I'll break off all acquaintance with you. So you'd better know it.'
'Well! To go with her or send her on beforehand will be more convenient for him,' said Samoylenko. 'He'll be delighted indeed. Well, goodbye.'
He said good-bye affectionately and went out, but before shutting the door after him, he looked round at Von Koren and, with a ferocious face, said:
'It's the Germans who have ruined you, brother! Yes! The Germans!'
XII
Next day, Thursday, Marya Konstantinovna was celebrating the birthday of her Kostya. All were invited to
