motionlessly waited for him to fire.
'Too long, you're aiming too long!' Kirillov shouted impatiently. 'Fire! Fi-i-ire!'
But the shot rang out, and this time the white beaver hat flew off Nikolai Vsevolodovich's head. The shot had been quite well aimed, the crown of the hat was pierced very low down; half an inch lower and all would have been over. Kirillov picked it up and handed it to Nikolai Vsevolodovich.
'Fire, don't keep your adversary waiting!' Mavriky Nikolaevich cried in terrible agitation, seeing that Stavrogin seemed to have forgotten to fire as he examined the hat with Kirillov. Stavrogin gave a start, looked at Gaganov, turned away, and this time without any delicacy fired off into the woods. The duel was over. Gaganov stood as if crushed. Mavriky Nikolaevich went up to him and started to say something, but the man seemed not to understand. Kirillov, as he was leaving, doffed his hat and gave a nod to Mavriky Nikolaevich; but Stavrogin forgot his former politeness; after firing into the woods, he did not even turn towards the barrier, but thrust his pistol at Kirillov and hastily made for the horses. There was spite in his face; he was silent. Kirillov, too, was silent. They mounted their horses and set off at a gallop.
III
'Why are you silent?' he called impatiently to Kirillov, not far from home.
'What do you want?' the latter answered, almost slipping off his horse, which reared up.
Stavrogin restrained himself.
'I didn't mean to offend that... fool, and here I've offended him again,' he said softly.
'Yes, offended again,' Kirillov cut off, 'and, besides, he's not a fool.'
'Still, I did all I could.'
'No.'
'What should I have done?'
'Not challenge him.'
'Take another slap in the face?'
'Yes, take a slap.'
'I'm beginning not to understand anything!' Stavrogin said spitefully. 'Why does everyone expect something of me that they don't expect of others? Why should I take what no one else takes, and invite burdens that no one else can bear?'
'I thought you yourself were seeking a burden?'
'I'm seeking a burden?'
'Yes.'
'You... saw that?'
'Yes.'
'Is it so noticeable?'
'Yes.'
There was a minute's silence. Stavrogin had a very preoccupied look, was almost struck.
'I didn't shoot at him because I didn't want to kill—there was nothing else, I assure you,' he said, hastily and anxiously, as if justifying himself.
'You shouldn't have offended him.'
'And what should I have done?'
'You should have killed him.'
'You're sorry I didn't kill him?'
'I'm not sorry about anything. I thought you really wanted to kill him. You don't know what you're seeking.'
'I'm seeking a burden,' laughed Stavrogin.
'You didn't want blood, why would you let him kill?'
'If I hadn't challenged him, he'd have killed me anyway, without a duel.'
'Not your business. Maybe he wouldn't have.': 'And would just have beaten me up?'
'Not your business. Bear the burden. Otherwise there's no merit.'
'I spit on your merit, I'm not seeking that from anyone!'
'I thought you were,' Kirillov concluded with terrible equanimity.
They rode into the courtyard.
'Want to come in?' Nikolai Vsevolodovich offered.
'No, home. Good-bye.' He got off the horse and took his box under his arm.
'You at least are not angry with me?' Stavrogin gave him his hand.
'Not at all!' Kirillov turned back to shake hands with him. 'If the burden is light for me because of my nature,
