The Adolescent

“Eh, it makes no difference.”

“It’s for you that I . . .”

“He did, he did.”

“Prince, we used to be friends . . . and, finally, Versilov . . .”

“Well, yes, yes, all right!”

“And, finally, I really don’t know ultimately, this three hundred . . .”

I was holding it in my hands.

“Take it, ta-a-ake it!” he smiled again, but there was something very unkind in his smile.

I took it.

Chapter Three

I

I TOOK IT because I loved him. To whoever doesn’t believe it, I’ll reply that at least at the moment when I took this money from him, I was firmly convinced that, if I had wanted to, I could very well have gotten it from another source. And therefore it means that I took it not out of extremity, but out of delicacy, only so as not to offend him. Alas, that was how I reasoned then! But even so I felt very oppressed on leaving him: I had seen an extraordinary change towards me that morning; there had never yet been such a tone; and against Versilov there was positive rebellion. Stebelkov, of course, had vexed him greatly with something earlier, but he had started even before Stebelkov. I’ll repeat once more: it had been possible to notice a change compared with the beginning in all those recent days, but not like that, not to such a degree—that’s the main thing.

The stupid news about this imperial aide-de-camp Baron Bjoring might have had an influence as well . . . I also left in agitation, but . . . That’s just it, that something quite different was shining then, and I let so much pass before my eyes light-mindedly: I hastened to let it pass, I drove away all that was gloomy and turned to what was shining . . .

It was not yet one in the afternoon. From the prince, my Matvei drove me straight—will you believe to whom? —to Stebelkov! That’s just it, that earlier that day he had surprised me not so much by his calling on the prince (because he had promised him to come), as by the fact that, though he winked at me out of his stupid habit, it was not at all on the subject I had expected. The evening before, I had received from him, through the city mail, a note I found quite mysterious, in which he urgently requested that I visit him precisely today, between one and two o’clock, and “that he could inform me of things I was not expecting.” And yet just now, there at the prince’s, he hadn’t let anything show about the letter. What secrets could there be between Stebelkov and me? The idea was even ridiculous; but in view of everything that had happened, as I was going to him now, I even felt a little excited. Of course, I turned to him for money once a couple of weeks before, and he was about to give it, but for some reason we had a falling-out then, and I didn’t take it; he began muttering something vaguely then, as he usually does, and it seemed to me that he wanted to offer something, some special conditions; and since I treated him with decided condescension each time I met him at the prince’s, I proudly cut off any thought of special conditions and left, despite the fact that he chased after me to the door. That time I borrowed from the prince.

Stebelkov lived completely by himself, and lived prosperously: an apartment of four splendid rooms, fine furniture, male and female servants, and some sort of housekeeper, rather elderly, however. I came in wrathfully.

“Listen, my dear fellow,” I began from the doorway, “what, first of all, is the meaning of this note? I don’t allow for any correspondence between myself and you. And why didn’t you tell me what you wanted to earlier, right there at the prince’s? I was at your service.”

“And why did you also keep silent earlier and not ask?” he extended his mouth into a most self-satisfied smile.

“Because it’s not I who have need of you, but you who have need of me,” I cried, suddenly getting angry.

“Then why have you come to me, in that case?” he nearly jumped up and down with pleasure. I turned instantly and was about to leave, but he seized me by the shoulder.

“No, no, I was joking. It’s an important matter; you’ll see for yourself.”

I sat down. I confess I was curious. We were sitting by the edge of a big writing table, facing each other. He smiled slyly and raised his finger.

“Please, without your sly tricks and without the finger, and above all without any allegories, but straight to business—otherwise I’m leaving!” I cried again in wrath.

“You’re . . . proud!” he pronounced with some sort of stupid reproach, swinging himself towards me in his armchair and raising all the wrinkles on his forehead.

“One has to be with you!”

“You . . . took money from the prince today, three hundred roubles. I have money. My money’s better.”

“How do you know I took money?” I was terribly surprised. “Can he have told you that himself ?”

“He told me. Don’t worry, it was just so, side talk, it came up by the way, only just by the way, not on purpose. He told me. But it was possible not to take it from him. Is that so or not?”

“But I hear you fleece people at an unbearable rate.”

“I have a mont-de-piete, but I don’t fleece. I keep it only for friends, I don’t lend to others. For others the mont-de-piete . . .”

This mont-de-piete was the most ordinary lending of money on pledges, under some other name, in a different apartment, and it was flourishing.

“But I lend large sums to friends.”

“What, is the prince such a friend of yours?”

“A frie-e-end; but . . . he talks through his hat. And he dare not talk through his hat.”