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Several peasants accompanied the lawyers and remained on the same side of the curtain. “To be ready if force is required,” thought Mitya, “and perhaps for some other reason, too.” “Well, must I take off my shirt, too?” he asked sharply, but Nikolay Parfenovitch did not answer.
I will note once for all that Nikolay Parfenovitch, who had but lately arrived among us, had from the first felt marked respect for Ippolit Kirillovitch, our prosecutor, and had become almost his bosom friend. He was almost the only person who put implicit faith in Ippolit Kirillovitch’s extraordinary talents as a psychologist and orator and in the justice of his grievance.
“This is absolutely irregular, Mihail Makarovitch!” he cried. “You are positively hindering the inquiry.... You’re ruining the case....” he almost gasped. “Follow the regular course! Follow the regular course!” cried Nikolay Parfenovitch, fearfully excited too, “otherwise it’s absolutely impossible!...” “Judge us together!” Grushenka cried frantically, still kneeling. “Punish us together.
“No, I didn’t go home,” answered Mitya, apparently perfectly composed, but looking at the floor. “Allow me then to repeat my question,” Nikolay Parfenovitch went on as though creeping up to the subject. “Where were you able to procure such a sum all at once, when by your own confession, at five o’clock the same day you—”
“The preliminary inquiry is not yet over,” Nikolay Parfenovitch faltered, somewhat embarrassed. “We will continue it in the town, and I, for my part, of course, am ready to wish you all success ... in your defense.... As a matter of fact, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I’ve always been disposed to regard you as, so to speak, more unfortunate than guilty.
Won’t you search me as I am! Can’t you?” “It’s utterly impossible, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You must take off your clothes.” “As you like,” Mitya submitted gloomily; “only, please, not here, but behind the curtains. Who will search them?” “Behind the curtains, of course.” Nikolay Parfenovitch bent his head in assent. His small face wore an expression of peculiar solemnity.
I know the tricks. I’ve been in the service, too. Ha ha ha! You’re not angry, gentlemen? You forgive my impertinence?” he cried, looking at them with a good-nature that was almost surprising. “It’s only Mitya Karamazov, you know, so you can overlook it. It would be inexcusable in a sensible man; but you can forgive it in Mitya. Ha ha!” Nikolay Parfenovitch listened, and laughed too.
“That boy, Nikolay Parfenovitch, to whom I was talking nonsense about women only a few days ago, and that sickly prosecutor are not worth my telling this to,” he reflected mournfully. “It’s ignominious. ‘Be patient, humble, hold thy peace.’ ” He wound up his reflections with that line. But he pulled himself together to go on again.
We will come back to it during the examination of the witnesses, which will, of course, take place in your presence,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch in conclusion. “And now allow me to request you to lay on the table everything in your possession, especially all the money you still have about you.” “My money, gentlemen? Certainly. I understand that that is necessary.
He pointed to one of the three large rings adorning Nikolay Parfenovitch’s right hand. “Ring?” repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch with surprise. “Yes, that one ... on your middle finger, with the little veins in it, what stone is that?” Mitya persisted, like a peevish child. “That’s a smoky topaz,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, smiling. “Would you like to look at it? I’ll take it off ...”
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