calling out aloud). Well, those signals are known to Dmitri Fyodorovitch too, now.'

'How are they known? Did you tell him? How dared you tell him?'

'It was through fright I did it. How could I dare to keep it back from him? Dmitri Fyodorovitch kept persisting every day, ‘You are deceiving me, you are hiding something from me! I'll break both your legs for you.’ So I told him those secret signals that he might see my slavish devotion, and might be satisfied that I was not deceiving him, but was telling him all I could.'

'If you think that he'll make use of those signals and try to get in, don't let him in.'

'But if I should be laid up with a fit, how can I prevent him coming in then, even if I dared prevent him, knowing how desperate he is?'

'Hang it! How can you be so sure you are going to have a fit, confound you? Are you laughing at me?'

'How could I dare laugh at you? I am in no laughing humour with this fear on me. I feel I am going to have a fit. I have a presentiment. Fright alone will bring it on.'

'Confound it! If you are laid up, Grigory will be on the watch. Let Grigory know beforehand; he will be sure not to let him in.'

'I should never dare to tell Grigory Vassilyevitch about the signals without orders from my master. And as for Grigory Vassilyevitch hearing him and not admitting him, he has been ill ever since yesterday, and Marfa Ignatyevna intends to give him medicine to-morrow. They've just arranged it. It's a very strange remedy of hers. Marfa Ignatyevna knows of a preparation and always keeps it. It's a strong thing made from some herb. She has the secret of it, and she always gives it to Grigory Vassilyevitch three times a year when his lumbago's so bad he is almost paralysed by it. Then she takes a towel, wets it with the stuff, and rubs his whole back for half an hour till it's quite red and swollen, and what's left in the bottle she gives him to drink with a special prayer; but not quite all, for on such occasions she leaves some for herself, and drinks it herself. And as they never take strong drink, I assure you they both drop asleep at once and sleep sound a very long time. And when Grigory Vassilyevitch wakes up he is perfectly well after it, but Marfa Ignatyevna always has a headache from it. So, if Marfa Ignatyevna carries out her intention to-morrow, they won't hear anything and hinder Dmitri Fyodorovitch. They'll be asleep.'

'What a rigmarole! And it all seems to happen at once, as though it were planned. You'll have a fit and they'll both be unconscious,' cried Ivan. 'But aren't you trying to arrange it so?' broke from him suddenly, and he frowned threateningly.

'How could I?... And why should I, when it all depends on Dmitri Fyodorovitch and his plans?... If he means to do anything, he'll do it; but if not, I shan't be thrusting him upon his father.'

'And why should he go to father, especially on the sly, if, as you say yourself, Agrafena Alexandrovna won't come at all?' Ivan went on, turning white with anger. 'You say that yourself, and all the while I've been here, I've felt sure it was all the old man's fancy, and the creature won't come to him. Why should Dmitri break in on him if she doesn't come? Speak, I want to know what you are thinking!'

'You know yourself why he'll come. What's the use of what I think? His honour will come simply because he is in a rage or suspicious on account of my illness perhaps, and he'll dash in, as he did yesterday through impatience to search the rooms, to see whether she hasn't escaped him on the sly. He is perfectly well aware, too, that Fyodor Pavlovitch has a big envelope with three thousand roubles in it, tied up with ribbon and sealed with three seals. On it is written in his own hand ‘To my angel Grushenka, if she will come,’ to which he added three days later, ‘for my little chicken.’ There's no knowing what that might do.'

'Nonsense!' cried Ivan, almost beside himself. 'Dmitri won't come to steal money and kill my father to do it. He might have killed him yesterday on account of Grushenka, like the frantic, savage fool he is, but he won't steal.'

'He is in very great need of money now--the greatest need, Ivan Fyodorovitch. You don't know in what need he is,' Smerdyakov explained, with perfect composure and remarkable distinctness. 'He looks on that three thousand as his own, too. He said so to me himself. ‘My father still owes me just three thousand,’ he said. And besides that, consider, Ivan Fyodorovitch, there is something else perfectly true. It's as good as certain, so to say, that Agrafena Alexandrovna will force him, if only she cares to, to marry her--the master himself, I mean, Fyodor Pavlovitch--if only she cares to, and of course she may care to. All I've said is that she won't come, but maybe she's looking for more than that--I mean to be mistress here. I know myself that Samsonov, her merchant, was laughing with her about it, telling her quite openly that it would not be at all a stupid thing to do. And she's got plenty of sense. She wouldn't marry a beggar like Dmitri Fyodorovitch. So, taking that into consideration, Ivan Fyodorovitch, reflect that then neither Dmitri Fyodorovitch nor yourself and your brother, Alexey Fyodorovitch, would have anything after the master's death, not a rouble, for Agrafena Alexandrovna would marry him simply to get hold of the whole, all the money there is. But if your father were to die now, there'd be some forty thousand for sure, even for Dmitri Fyodorovitch whom he hates so, for he's made no will.... Dmitri Fyodorovitch knows all that very well.'

A sort of shudder passed over Ivan's face. He suddenly flushed.

'Then why on earth,' he suddenly interrupted Smerdyakov, 'do you advise me to go to Tchermashnya? What did you mean by that? If I go away, you see what will happen here.' Ivan drew his breath with difficulty.

'Precisely so,' said Smerdyakov, softly and reasonably, watching Ivan intently, however.

'What do you mean by ‘precisely so'?' Ivan questioned him, with a menacing light in his eyes, restraining himself with difficulty.

'I spoke because I felt sorry for you. If I were in your place I should simply throw it all up... rather than stay on in such a position,' answered Smerdyakov, with the most candid air looking at Ivan's flashing eyes. They were both silent.

'You seem to be a perfect idiot, and what's more... an awful scoundrel, too.' Ivan rose suddenly from the bench. He was about to pass straight through the gate, but he stopped short and turned to Smerdyakov. Something strange followed. Ivan, in a sudden paroxysm, bit his lip, clenched his fists, and, in another minute, would have flung himself on Smerdyakov. The latter, anyway, noticed it at the same moment, started, and shrank back. But the moment passed without mischief to Smerdyakov, and Ivan turned in silence, as it seemed in perplexity, to the gate.

'I am going away to Moscow to-morrow, if you care to know--early to-morrow morning. That's all!' he suddenly said aloud angrily, and wondered himself afterwards what need there was to say this then to Smerdyakov.

'That's the best thing you can do,' he responded, as though he had expected to hear it; 'except that you can always be telegraphed for from Moscow, if anything should happen here.'

Ivan stopped again, and again turned quickly to Smerdyakov. But a change had passed over him, too. All his familiarity and carelessnes had completely disappeared. His face expressed attention and expectation, intent but timid and cringing.

'Haven't you something more to say--something to add?' could be read in the intent gaze he fixed on Ivan.

'And couldn't I be sent for from Tchermashnya, too--in case anything happened?' Ivan shouted suddenly, for some unknown reason raising his voice.

'From Tchermashnya, too... you could be sent for,' Smerdyakov muttered, almost in a whisper, looking disconcerted, but gazing intently into Ivan's eyes.

'Only Moscow is farther and Tchermashnya is nearer. Is it to save my spending money on the fare, or to save my going so far out of my way, that you insist on Tchermashnya?'

'Precisely so...' muttered Smerdyakov, with a breaking voice. He looked at Ivan with a revolting smile, and again made ready to draw back. But to his astonishment Ivan broke into a laugh, and went through the gate still laughing. Anyone who had seen his face at that moment would have known that he was not laughing from lightness of heart, and he could not have explained himself what he was feeling at that instant. He moved and walked as though in a nervous frenzy.

Chapter 7

'It's Always Worth While Speaking to a Clever Man'

AND in the same nervous frenzy, too, he spoke. Meeting Fyodor Pavlovitch in the drawing-room directly he went in, he shouted to him, waving his hands, 'I am going upstairs to my room, not in to you. Good-bye!' and passed by, trying not even to look at his father. Very possibly the old man was too hateful to him at that moment; but such an unceremonious display of hostility was a surprise even to Fyodor Pavlovitch. And the old man evidently

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