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Updated: June 5, 2025
The Pole gasped with offended dignity, and quickly and pompously delivered himself in broken Russian: “Pani Agrafena, I came here to forget the past and forgive it, to forget all that has happened till to-day—” “Forgive? Came here to forgive me?” Grushenka cut him short, jumping up from her seat. “Just so, pani, I’m not pusillanimous, I’m magnanimous. But I was astounded when I saw your lovers.
I ought to have questioned her just now,” he thought with vexation, “I should have heard everything.” And the desire to speak to her, and so find out, became so pressing and importunate that when he was half-way home he turned abruptly and went towards the house where Grushenka lodged. Going up to the gate he knocked.
You’re a trump, Mitya!” cried Grushenka, and there was a note of fierce anger in the exclamation. The little pan, crimson with fury but still mindful of his dignity, was making for the door, but he stopped short and said suddenly, addressing Grushenka: “Pani, if you want to come with me, come. If not, good-by.” And swelling with indignation and importance he went to the door.
Yes, ready to marry her! to abandon his betrothed, a rare beauty, Katerina Ivanovna, who’s rich, and the daughter of a colonel, and to marry Grushenka, who has been the mistress of a dissolute old merchant, Samsonov, a coarse, uneducated, provincial mayor. Some murderous conflict may well come to pass from all this, and that’s what your brother Ivan is waiting for.
At that moment another unexpected scene followed. Though Grushenka had been removed, she had not been taken far away, only into the room next but one from the blue room, in which the examination was proceeding. It was a little room with one window, next beyond the large room in which they had danced and feasted so lavishly.
“Then he’s expecting Grushenka to-day?” “No, she won’t come to-day; there are signs. She’s certain not to come,” cried Mitya suddenly. “Smerdyakov thinks so, too. Father’s drinking now. He’s sitting at table with Ivan. Go to him, Alyosha, and ask for the three thousand.”
There was one man—one, an officer too, we loved him, we sacrificed everything to him. That was long ago, five years ago, and he has forgotten us, he has married. Now he is a widower, he has written, he is coming here, and, do you know, we’ve loved him, none but him, all this time, and we’ve loved him all our life! He will come, and Grushenka will be happy again.
The world’s a nice place. Though we’re bad the world’s all right. We’re good and bad, good and bad.... Come, tell me, I’ve something to ask you: come here every one, and I’ll ask you: Why am I so good? You know I am good. I’m very good.... Come, why am I so good?” So Grushenka babbled on, getting more and more drunk. At last she announced that she was going to dance, too.
After the first inevitable inquiries and warnings, Nikolay Parfenovitch asked her, hesitating a little, but preserving the most courteous manner, on what terms she was with the retired lieutenant, Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov. To this Grushenka firmly and quietly replied: “He was an acquaintance.
I was desperately in need of that three thousand ... so the bundle of notes for three thousand that I knew he kept under his pillow, ready for Grushenka, I considered as simply stolen from me. Yes, gentlemen, I looked upon it as mine, as my own property....” The prosecutor looked significantly at the investigating lawyer, and had time to wink at him on the sly.
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