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“Panie Kalganov, in gentlemanly society one doesn’t say such things.” “As if a Polish gambler would give away a million!” cried Mitya, but checked himself at once. “Forgive me, panie, it’s my fault again, he would, he would give away a million, for honor, for Polish honor. You see how I talk Polish, ha ha! Here, I stake ten roubles, the knave leads.”
“You’re fools, you panovie,” broke suddenly from Mitya. “Panie!” shouted both the Poles, menacingly, setting on Mitya like a couple of cocks. Pan Vrublevsky was specially furious. “Can one help loving one’s own country?” he shouted. “Be silent! Don’t quarrel! I won’t have any quarreling!” cried Grushenka imperiously, and she stamped her foot on the floor. Her face glowed, her eyes were shining.
The chief feature of this Panie Terror is that there is no clear notion of any definite danger bound up with it; that it presumes rather than knows that danger exists; and that, in case of need, it pleads fright itself as the reason for being afraid.
Both the Poles rose from their seats with a deeply offended air. “Are you joking, panie?” said the short man, looking severely at Kalganov. “How dare you!” Pan Vrublevsky, too, growled at Kalganov. “Don’t dare to shout like that,” cried Grushenka. “Ah, you turkey-cocks!” Mitya looked at each of them in turn.
Pan Mitya offered me three thousand, in the other room to depart. I spat in the pan’s face.” “What? He offered you money for me?” cried Grushenka, hysterically. “Is it true, Mitya? How dare you? Am I for sale?” “Panie, panie!” yelled Mitya, “she’s pure and shining, and I have never been her lover! That’s a lie....”
Take your cards. Make the bank.” “We’ll have cards from the landlord, panie,” said the little Pole, gravely and emphatically. “That’s much the best way,” chimed in Pan Vrublevsky. “From the landlord? Very good, I understand, let’s get them from him. Cards!” Mitya shouted to the landlord.
The small man and Mitya sat down to this table, facing each other, while the huge Vrublevsky stood beside them, his hands behind his back. The Poles looked severe but were evidently inquisitive. “What can I do for you, panie?” lisped the little Pole. “Well, look here, panie, I won’t keep you long. There’s money for you,” he pulled out his notes. “Would you like three thousand?
'But the eldest perhaps with a smaller dowry 'To tell the truth, Panie Tinowitz, it was the landlord who turned my head with false hopes. I came here not to promote marriages, but to prevent funerals! The corn-factor gasped, 'Funerals! 'A pogrom is threatened 'Open not your mouth to Satan! reprimanded Tinowitz, growing livid. 'If you prefer silence and slaughter said David, with a shrug.
“On the double!” shouted Mitya furiously. “You’ve lost two hundred, panie. Will you stake another hundred?” the Pole on the sofa inquired. “What? Lost two hundred already? Then another two hundred! All doubles!” And pulling his money out of his pocket, Mitya was about to fling two hundred roubles on the queen, but Kalganov covered it with his hand.
“You do that, panie,” said Mitya, recognizing with despair that all was over, “because you hope to make more out of Grushenka? You’re a couple of capons, that’s what you are!” “This is a mortal insult!” The little Pole turned as red as a crab, and he went out of the room, briskly, as though unwilling to hear another word.
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