'And yet take it you will. I'm acting on instructions from the central committee, and you must obey.'
'And I think that our centers abroad have forgotten Russian reality and broken all connections, and are therefore simply raving... I even think that instead of many hundreds of fivesomes there is only our one in all Russia, and there isn't any network,' Liputin finally choked.
'The more contemptible for you, that you ran after the cause without believing in it. . . and are running after me now like a mean little cur.'
'No, sir, I'm not running. We have every right to leave off and to form a new society.'
'Mor-ron!' Pyotr Stepanovich suddenly thundered menacingly, flashing his eyes.
The two stood facing each other for a time. Pyotr Stepanovich turned and confidently set off on his way again.
It flashed like lightning through Liputin's mind: 'I'll turn and go back; if I don't turn now, I'll never go back.' He thought thus for exactly ten steps, but at the eleventh a new and desperate thought lit up in his mind: he did not turn and did not go back.
They came to Filippov's house, but before reaching it went down a lane, or, better to say, an inconspicuous path by the fence, so that for some time they had to make their way along the sloping side of a ditch, where one had to hold on to the fence in order to keep one's footing. In the darkest corner of the tilting fence, Pyotr Stepanovich removed a board; an opening was formed, through which he promptly climbed. Liputin was surprised, but climbed through in his turn; then the board was put back. This was that secret way by which Fedka used to get to Kirillov.
'Shatov mustn't know we're here,' Pyotr Stepanovich whispered sternly to Liputin.
III
Kirillov, as always at that hour, was sitting on his leather sofa having tea. He did not rise to meet them, but somehow heaved himself all up and looked with alarm at the entering people.
'You're not mistaken,' said Pyotr Stepanovich, 'I've come for that very thing.'
'Today?'
'No, no, tomorrow... around this time.'
And he hastily sat down at the table, observing the alarmed Kirillov somewhat anxiously. He, however, had already calmed down and looked as usual.
'These people still won't believe it. You're not angry that I brought Liputin?'
'Today I'm not, but tomorrow I want to be alone.'
'But not before I come, and so in my presence.'
'I'd prefer not in your presence.'
'You remember you promised to write out and sign everything I dictate.'
'Makes no difference to me. Will you stay long now?'
'I must see a certain person, and I have half an hour till then, so whether you want it or not, I'll stay for that half hour.'
Kirillov said nothing. Liputin, meanwhile, placed himself to one side, under the portrait of a bishop. The same desperate thought was taking hold of his mind more and more. Kirillov barely paid any attention to him. Liputin had known Kirillov's theory even before and had always laughed at him; but now he was silent and looked around gloomily.
'And I wouldn't mind having some tea,' Pyotr Stepanovich stirred. 'I've just had a beefsteak and was hoping to find your tea ready.'
'Have some.'
'You used to offer it yourself,' Pyotr Stepanovich observed sourishly.
'Makes no difference. Liputin can have some, too.'
'No, sir, I... can't.'
'Can't, or won't?' Pyotr Stepanovich turned quickly.
'I won't do it here, sir,' Liputin refused meaningly. Pyotr Stepanovich scowled.
'Smells of mysticism—devil knows what sort of people you all are!'
No one answered him; they were silent for a full minute.
'But I know one thing,' he suddenly added sharply, 'that no prejudice will stop any of us from doing his duty.'
'Stavrogin left?' Kirillov asked.
'Yes.'
'He did well.'
Pyotr Stepanovich flashed his eyes, but kept hold of himself.
'I don't care what you think, so long as each one keeps his word.'
'I will keep my word.'
'However, I have always been sure that you would do your duty as an independent and progressive man.'
