Demons

Vsevolodovich glanced at him curiously.

'You say you've changed your thinking about me?' he asked.

'I changed my thinking about you the moment you took your hands back after Shatov—and enough, enough, please, no questions, I won't say anything now.'

He jumped up, in fact, waving his hands as if he were waving the questions away; but since there were no questions, and there was no reason for him to leave, he sat down in the chair again, somewhat calmer.

'Incidentally, in parenthesis,' he went rattling on at once, 'some people here are babbling that you're going to kill him, and are making bets, so that Lembke even thought of jogging the police, but Yulia Mikhailovna forbade it. . . Enough, enough of that, I was just letting you know. Incidentally, again: I had the Lebyadkins moved that same day, you know; did you get my note with their address?'

'I got it right then.'

'That wasn't out of 'giftlessness,' it was done sincerely, out of willingness. If it came out as giftless, anyway it was sincere.'

'Yes, never mind, maybe it had to be so ...' Nikolai Vsevolodovich said pensively. 'Only don't write me any more notes, I beg you.'

'Couldn't help it, just that once.'

'So Liputin knows?'

'Couldn't help it, but you know yourself that Liputin doesn't dare... Incidentally, you ought to go and see our people—I mean, them, not our people—otherwise you'll be picking up my dropped stitches again. Don't worry, not now, but someday. It's raining now. I'll let them know, they'll get together, and we'll come in the evening. They're waiting with their mouths open, like baby jackdaws in a nest, to see what sort of treat we've brought them. A fervent lot. Got their books out, all ready to argue. Virginsky—an omni-man; ^[80] Liputin—a Fourierist, with a strong propensity for police dealings; a valuable man, I must tell you, in one respect, but requiring strictness in all others; and, finally, that one with the long ears, he'll read us his own system. And, you know, they're offended that I treat them casually and pour cold water on them, heh, heh! But to go is certainly a must.'

'You've presented me there as some sort of chief?' Nikolai Vsevolodovich let escape as casually as he could. Pyotr Stepanovich glanced quickly at him.

'Incidentally,' he picked up, as if he had not heard, and quickly glossing it over, 'I did call two or three times a day on the much esteemed Varvara Petrovna, and was again forced to talk a lot.'

'I can imagine.'

'No, don't imagine, I simply said that you won't kill anybody, and, well, all sorts of sweet things. And, imagine, she already knew the next day that I'd had Marya Timofeevna moved across the river—did you tell her?'

'Never occurred to me.'

'I just knew it wasn't you. But who could have, besides you? Interesting.'

'Liputin, of course.'

'N-no, not Liputin,' Pyotr Stepanovich muttered, frowning. 'I know who. It looks like Shatov... Nonsense, though, let's drop it! Though it's terribly important... Incidentally, I kept waiting for your mother suddenly to blurt out the main question... Ah, yes, all those first days she was terribly glum, and suddenly when I came today— she's beaming all over. What's that about?'

'It's because I gave her my word today that I'd propose to Lizaveta Nikolaevna in five days,' Nikolai Vsevolodovich suddenly said with unexpected frankness.

'Ah, well... yes, of course,' Pyotr Stepanovich babbled, hesitating, as it were, 'there are these rumors about an engagement, you know? It's true, though. But you're right. She'll come running from the foot of the altar, you only have to call. You're not angry that I'm like this?'

'No, I'm not.'

'I've been noticing that it's terribly difficult to make you angry today, and I'm beginning to be afraid of you. I'm terribly curious about how you'll appear tomorrow. You must have a lot of tricks ready. You're not angry that I'm like this?'

Nikolai Vsevolodovich made no reply at all, which thoroughly vexed Pyotr Stepanovich.

'Incidentally, were you serious with your mother about Lizaveta Nikolaevna?' he asked.

Nikolai Vsevolodovich looked at him intently and coldly.

'Ah, I understand, it was just to calm her down, that's what.'

'And if I was serious?' Nikolai Vsevolodovich asked firmly.

'Well, then God be with you, as they say in such cases, it won't harm anything (you see, I didn't say our thing; you don't like the word our), and I... well, as for me, I'm at your service, you know that.'

'You think so?'

'I think nothing, nothing,' Pyotr Stepanovich rushed on, laughing, 'because I know you've thought over your affairs beforehand, and you have it all thought out. I'm just saying that I am seriously at your service, always and everywhere and in any event—I mean any, understand?'

Nikolai Vsevolodovich yawned.

'You're tired of me,' Pyotr Stepanovich suddenly jumped up, seizing his round, quite new hat as if he were leaving, yet still remaining and continuing to talk ceaselessly, though he was standing, pacing the room from time to time and slapping himself on the knee with his hat at animated points in the conversation.

'I still hoped to amuse you with the Lembkes,' he cried gaily.