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Sometimes, thinking things over, he fell into despair and asked himself: should he run away? He did not sleep for nights together, and kept thinking how he should meet in Moscow the lady whom he had called in his letters "a certain person," and what attitude his father and his brother, difficult people, would take towards his marriage and towards Yulia.
Oh, I scout with indignation the contemptible slander which was spread later of some supposed liaison between Yulia Mihailovna and Pyotr Stepanovitch. There was no such thing, nor could there be.
Yulia Sergeyevna ran upstairs, her white dress with blue flowers on it rustling as she went. "I can't be disturbed," she answered, stopping on the landing. "I never do anything. Every day is a holiday for me, from morning till night." "What you say is inconceivable to me," he said, going up to her.
The water ran over his fur coat and his jacket, and Laptev, who had never seen men cry, stood in confusion and dismay, not knowing what to do. He looked on helplessly while Yulia and the servant took off Fyodor's coat and helped him back again into the room, and went with him, feeling guilty. Yulia made Fyodor lie down on the sofa and knelt beside him.
One day Mametkul, her grande passion, came to see her . . . she was not at home. . . . Well, I asked him into my room . . . there was conversation, one thing and another . . . they're awfully amusing, you know! The evening passed without our noticing it. . . . All at once Yulia rushed in. . . . She flew at me and at Mametkul made such a scene . . . fi!
At this point he began rapidly stamping with both feet on the carpet, so that Yulia Mihailovna was obliged to get up with stern dignity. At last he made a fatal blunder, and let slip that he was jealous of Pyotr Stepanovitch. I'll make a point of it!" he shrieked. "Do you know," he screamed, "do you know that your rascals are inciting men at the factory, and that I know it?
"What business is it of yours?" he asked suddenly with strange calm. "What business is it of mine I You are wearing the steward's badge, too.... Where is Pyotr Stepanovitch?" "I don't know, somewhere here; why do you ask?" "Because now I see through it. It's simply a plot against Yulia Mihailovna so as to ruin the day by a scandal...." Liputin looked at me askance again.
The whole hall became instantly still, all looks were turned to him, some with positive alarm. There was no denying, he knew how to secure their interest from the first word. Heads were thrust out from behind the scenes; Liputin and Lyamshin listened greedily. Yulia Mihailovna waved to me again. "Stop him, whatever happens, stop him," she whispered in agitation.
The doctor's house with its common furniture was repulsive to him, and he looked upon the doctor himself as a wretched, greasy miser, a sort of operatic Gaspard from "Les Cloches de Corneville." The very name "Yulia" had a vulgar sound.
It was maintained in one group, for instance, that Yulia Mihailovna had arranged Liza's elopement with Stavrogin and had been paid by the latter for doing so. Even the sum paid was mentioned.
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