THE COMPLETE NOVELLAS & SHORT STORIES OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

one is stirring,” said the old man, leaving off coughing at last.

      “Hush! Do you hear?” whispered the young man, squeezing Ivan Andreyitch’s hands.

      “Sir, you are holding my hands by force. Let me go!”

      “Hush!”

      A slight struggle followed and then there was a silence again.

      “So I met a pretty woman ..,” began the old man.

      “A pretty woman!” interrupted his wife.

      “Yes…. I thought I told you before that I met a pretty woman on the stairs, or perhaps I did not mention it? My memory is weak. Yes, St. John’s wort … khee!”

      “What?”

      “I must drink St. John’s wort; they say it does good … khee-khee-khee! It does good!”

      “It was you interrupted him,” said the young man, grinding his teeth again.

      “You said, you met some pretty woman to-day?” his wife went on.

      “Eh?”

      “Met a pretty woman?”

      “Who did?”

      “Why, didn’t you?”

      “I? When?”

      “Oh, yes!…”

      “At last! What a mummy! Well!” whispered the young man, inwardly raging at the forgetful old gentleman.

      “My dear sir, I am trembling with horror. My God, what do I hear? It’s like yesterday, exactly like yesterday!…”

      “Hush!”

      “Yes, to be sure! I remember, a sly puss, such eyes … in a blue hat….”

      “In a blue hat! Aïe, aïe!”

      “It’s she! She has a blue hat! My God!” cried Ivan Andreyitch.

      “She? Who is she?” whispered the young man, squeezing Ivan Andreyitch’s hands.

      “Hush!” Ivan Andreyitch exhorted in his turn. “He is speaking.”

      “Ah, my God, my God!”

      “Though, after all, who hasn’t a blue hat?”

      “And such a sly little rogue,” the old gentleman went on “She comes here to see friends. She is always making eyes. And other friends come to see those friends too….”

      “Foo! how tedious!” the lady interrupted. “Really, how can you take interest in that?”

      “Oh, very well, very well, don’t be cross,” the old gentleman responded in a wheedling chant. “I won’t talk if you don’t care to hear me. You seem a little out of humour this evening.”

      “But how did you get here?” the young man began.

      “Ah, you see, you see! Now you are interested, and before you wouldn’t listen!”

      “Oh, well, I don’t care! Please don’t tell me. Oh, damnation take it, what a mess!”

      “Don’t be cross, young man; I don’t know what I am saying. I didn’t mean anything; I only meant to say that there must be some good reason for your taking such an interest…. But who are you, young man? I see you are a stranger, but who are you? Oh, dear, I don’t know what I am saying!”

      “Ugh, leave off, please!” the young man interrupted, as though he were considering something.

      “But I will tell you all about it. You think, perhaps, that I will not tell you. That I feel resentment against you. Oh, no! Here is my hand. I am only feeling depressed, nothing more. But for God’s sake, first tell me how you came here yourself? Through what chance? As for me, I feel no ill-will; no, indeed, I feel no ill-will, here is my hand. I have made it rather dirty, it is so dusty here; but that’s nothing, when the feeling is true.”

      “Ugh, get away with your hand! There is no room to turn, and he keeps thrusting his hand on me!”

      “But, my dear sir, but you treat me, if you will allow me to say so, as though I were an old shoe,” said Ivan Andreyitch in a rush of the meekest despair, in a voice full of entreaty. “Treat me a little more civilly, just a little more civilly, and I will tell you all about it! We might be friends; I am quite ready to ask you home to dinner. We can’t lie side by side like this, I tell you plainly. You are in error, young man, you do not know….”

      “When was it he met her?” the young man muttered, evidently in violent emotion. “Perhaps she is expecting me now…. I’ll certainly get away from here!”

      “She? Who is she? My God, of whom are you speaking, young man? You imagine that upstairs…. My God, my God! Why am I punished like this?”

      Ivan Andreyitch tried to turn on his back in his despair.

      “Why do you want to know who she is? Oh, the devil whether it was she or not, I will get out.”

      “My dear sir! What are you thinking about? What will become of me?” whispered Ivan Andreyitch, clutching at the tails of his neighbour’s dress coat in his despair.

      “Well, what’s that to me? You can stop here by yourself. And if you won’t, I’ll tell them that you are my uncle, who has squandered all his property, so that the old gentleman won’t think that I am his wife’s lover.”

      “But that is utterly impossible, young man; it’s unnatural I should be your uncle. Nobody would believe you. Why, a baby wouldn’t believe it,” Ivan Andreyitch whispered in despair.

      “Well, don’t babble then, but lie as flat as a pancake! Most likely you will stay the night here and get out somehow tomorrow; no one will notice you. If one creeps out, it is not likely they would think there was another one here. There might as well be a dozen. Though you are as good as a dozen by yourself. Move a little, or I’ll get out.”

      “You wound me, young man…. What if I have a fit of coughing? One has to think of everything.”

      “Hush!”

      “What’s that? I fancy I hear something going on upstairs again,” said the old gentleman, who seemed to have had a nap in the interval.

      “Upstairs?”

      “Do you hear, young man? I shall get out.”

      “Well, I hear.”

      “My goodness! Young man, I am going.”

      “Oh, well, I am not, then! I don’t care. If there is an upset I don’t mind! But do you know what I suspect? I believe you are an injured husband — so there.”

      “Good heavens, what cynicism!… Can you possibly suspect that? Why a husband?… I am not married.”

      “Not married? Fiddlesticks!”

      “I may be a lover myself!”

      “A nice lover.”

      “My dear sir, my dear sir! Oh, very well, I will tell you the whole story. Listen to my desperate story. It is not I — I am not married. I am a bachelor like you. It is my friend, a companion of my youth…. I am a lover…. He told me that he was an unhappy man. ‘I am drinking the cup of bitterness,’ he said; ‘I suspect my wife.’ ‘Well,’ I said to him reasonably, ‘why do you suspect her?’… But you are not listening to me. Listen, listen! ‘Jealousy is ridiculous,’ I said to him; ‘jealousy is a vice!’… ‘No,’ he said; ‘I am an unhappy man! I am drinking … that is, I suspect my wife.’ ‘You are my friend,’ I said; ‘you are the companion of my tender youth. Together we culled the flowers of happiness, together we rolled in featherbeds of pleasure.’ My goodness, I don’t know what I am saying. You keep laughing, young man. You’ll drive me crazy.”

      “But