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Podvysotsky wins. ‘Take it, panie,’ says the banker, and pulling out the drawer he gives him a million. ‘Take it, panie, this is your gain.’ There was a million in the bank. ‘I didn’t know that,’ says Podvysotsky. ‘Panie Podvysotsky,’ said the banker, ‘you pledged your honor and we pledged ours.’ Podvysotsky took the million.” “That’s not true,” said Kalganov.
“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.”
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.
Grushenka did, in fact, toss off a whole glass of champagne at one gulp, and became at once very tipsy. She sat down in the same chair as before, with a blissful smile on her face. Her cheeks were glowing, her lips were burning, her flashing eyes were moist; there was passionate appeal in her eyes. Even Kalganov felt a stir at the heart and went up to her.
“Do you know, that’s the truth, he’s not lying now,” exclaimed Kalganov, turning to Mitya; “and do you know, he’s been married twice; it’s his first wife he’s talking about. But his second wife, do you know, ran away, and is alive now.” “Is it possible?” said Mitya, turning quickly to Maximov with an expression of the utmost astonishment. “Yes. She did run away.
The silence of the company seemed somehow to strike him, however, and he looked round at every one with expectant eyes. “Why are we sitting here though, gentlemen? Why don’t you begin doing something?” his smiling eyes seemed to ask. “He keeps talking nonsense, and we were all laughing,” Kalganov began suddenly, as though divining his thought, and pointing to Maximov.
Mitya immediately stared at Kalganov and then at Maximov. “He’s talking nonsense?” he laughed, his short, wooden laugh, seeming suddenly delighted at something—“ha ha!” “Yes. Would you believe it, he will have it that all our cavalry officers in the twenties married Polish women. That’s awful rot, isn’t it?” “Polish women?” repeated Mitya, perfectly ecstatic.
In spite of the young man’s obvious repugnance at giving evidence, Ippolit Kirillovitch examined him at great length, and only from him learnt all the details of what made up Mitya’s “romance,” so to say, on that night. Mitya did not once pull Kalganov up. At last they let the young man go, and he left the room with unconcealed indignation. The Poles, too, were examined.
Trifon Borissovitch, recalled, was forced, in spite of his evasions, to admit that Pan Vrublevsky had substituted another pack of cards for the one he had provided, and that Pan Mussyalovitch had cheated during the game. Kalganov confirmed this, and both the Poles left the witness-box with damaged reputations, amidst laughter from the public.
And this man—the inspector of police, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, a man he knew well. And those fellows with the brass plates on, why are they here? And those other two ... peasants.... And there at the door Kalganov with Trifon Borissovitch.... “Gentlemen!
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