then maybe the burden is heavier for you because of your nature. Nothing to be much ashamed of, only a little.'
'I know I'm a worthless character, but I'm not trying to get in with the strong ones.'
'Don't; you're not a strong man. Come for tea.'
Nikolai Vsevolodovich entered the house greatly perturbed.
IV
He learned at once from Alexei Yegorovich that Varvara Petrovna, very pleased with Nikolai Vsevolodovich's going out— the first time after eight days of illness—for a ride on horseback, ordered a carriage to be readied and drove off alone, 'after the pattern of former days, to take a breath of fresh air, for in these eight days she has forgotten what it means to breathe fresh air.'
'Did she go alone or with Darya Pavlovna?' Nikolai Vsevolodovich interrupted the old man with a quick question, and frowned deeply on hearing that Darya Pavlovna 'declined to accompany her, being unwell, and is now in her rooms.'
'Listen, old man,' he said, as if suddenly making up his mind, 'keep an eye out for her all day today, and if you see her coming to me, stop her at once, and tell her that at least for a few days I'll be unable to receive her... that I myself ask it of her... and that I'll send for her when the time comes—do you hear?'
'I'll tell her, sir,' Alexei Yegorovich said, with anguish in his voice, lowering his eyes.
'But not before you see clearly that she's coming to me herself.'
'Do not worry, if you please, sir, there will be no mistakes. Up to now the visits have taken place through me; my assistance has always been called upon.'
'I know. But, still, not before she comes herself. Bring me some tea, quickly, if you can.'
As soon as the old man went out, at almost the same moment, the same door opened and Darya Pavlovna appeared on the threshold. Her eyes were calm, but her face was pale.
'Where did you come from?' Stavrogin exclaimed.
'I was standing right here, waiting for him to come out so that I could come in. I heard the order you gave him, and when he came out just now, I hid around the corner to the right, and he didn't notice me.'
'I've long meant to break it off with you, Dasha... meanwhile... for the time being. I couldn't receive you last night, despite your note. I wanted to write back to you, but I'm no good at writing,' he added with vexation, even as if with disgust.
'I myself thought we should break it off. Varvara Petrovna is too suspicious of our relations.'
'Well, let her be.'
'No, she shouldn't worry. And so, that's it now, until the end?'
'You're still so certainly expecting an end?'
'Yes, I'm sure of it.'
'Nothing in the world ever ends.'
'Here there will be an end. Call me then; I'll come. Now, good-bye.'
'And what sort of end will it be?' Nikolai Vsevolodovich grinned.
'You're not wounded, and... haven't shed blood?' she asked, without answering his question about the end.
'It was stupid; I didn't kill anyone, don't worry. However, you'll hear all about it this very day from everyone. I'm a bit unwell.'
'I'll leave. The marriage won't be announced today?' she added irresolutely.
'Not today; not tomorrow; about the day after tomorrow I don't know, maybe we'll all die, and so much the better. Leave me, leave me, finally.'
'You won't ruin the other woman... the insane one?'
'I won't ruin the insane ones, neither the one nor the other, but it seems I will ruin the sane one: I'm so mean and vile, Dasha, that it seems I really will call you 'in the final end,' as you say, and you, despite your sanity, will come. Why are you ruining yourself?'
'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
