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Nikolay Parfenovitch Nelyudov had been intending for three days past to drop in that evening at Mihail Makarovitch’s, so to speak casually, so as slyly to startle the eldest granddaughter, Olga Mihailovna, by showing that he knew her secret, that he knew it was her birthday, and that she was trying to conceal it on purpose, so as not to be obliged to give a dance.
You see, a month ago, I was sent for by Katerina Ivanovna, formerly my betrothed. Do you know her?” “Yes, of course.” “I know you know her. She’s a noble creature, noblest of the noble. But she has hated me ever so long, oh, ever so long ... and hated me with good reason, good reason!” “Katerina Ivanovna!” Nikolay Parfenovitch exclaimed with wonder. The prosecutor, too, stared.
“Shouldn’t we have some tea first?” interposed Nikolay Parfenovitch, “I think we’ve deserved it!” Tea really was ready below, and was soon brought up. Mitya at first refused the glass that Nikolay Parfenovitch politely offered him, but afterwards he asked for it himself and drank it greedily. He looked surprisingly exhausted.
Why, then I murdered him ... hit him on the head and cracked his skull.... I suppose that’s your story. That’s it!” His eyes suddenly flashed. All his smothered wrath suddenly flamed up with extraordinary violence in his soul. “Our story?” repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch. “Well—and yours?” Mitya dropped his eyes and was a long time silent. “My story, gentlemen?
“Nonsense!” he yelled, in a sudden frenzy, “it’s a barefaced lie. He couldn’t have seen the door open because it was shut. He’s lying!” “I consider it my duty to repeat that he is firm in his statement. He does not waver. He adheres to it. We’ve cross-examined him several times.” “Precisely. I have cross-examined him several times,” Nikolay Parfenovitch confirmed warmly. “It’s false, false!
He told them exactly what every tap on the window meant, tapped the signals on the table, and when Nikolay Parfenovitch said that he supposed he, Mitya, had tapped the signal “Grushenka has come,” when he tapped to his father, he answered precisely that he had tapped that signal, that “Grushenka had come.”
Nikolay Parfenovitch was obviously apprehensive of the effect her appearance might have on Mitya, and he muttered a few words of admonition to him, but Mitya bowed his head in silence, giving him to understand “that he would not make a scene.” Mihail Makarovitch himself led Grushenka in.
“Yes, what you said just now,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, looking at him in surprise, “that is, that up to the last hour you were still contemplating going to Katerina Ivanovna to beg that sum from her.... I assure you, that’s a very important piece of evidence for us, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I mean for the whole case ... and particularly for you, particularly important for you.”
You especially stated that it was under the pillow, so you must have known it.” “We’ve got it written down,” confirmed Nikolay Parfenovitch. “Nonsense! It’s absurd! I’d no idea it was under the pillow. And perhaps it wasn’t under the pillow at all.... It was just a chance guess that it was under the pillow. What does Smerdyakov say? Have you asked him where it was?
“Allow me, gentlemen, allow me one minute more,” interposed Mitya, putting his elbows on the table and covering his face with his hands. “Let me have a moment to think, let me breathe, gentlemen. All this is horribly upsetting, horribly. A man is not a drum, gentlemen!” “Drink a little more water,” murmured Nikolay Parfenovitch. Mitya took his hands from his face and laughed.
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