"But I hope that what's happened will have no influence on what I asked you to do," Yulia Mihailovna put in again. "I trust that you will not let this unfortunate annoyance, of which I had no idea, lead you to disappoint our eager expectations and deprive us of the enjoyment of hearing your reading at our literary matinee."
"I don't know, I... now..."
"Really, I am so unlucky, Varvara Petrovna... and only fancy, just when I was so longing to make the personal acquaintance of one of the most remarkable and independent intellects of Russia—and here Stepan Trofimovitch suddenly talks of deserting us."
"Your compliment is uttered so audibly that I ought to pretend not to hear it," Stepan Trofimovitch said neatly, "but I cannot believe that my insignificant presence is so indispensable at your fete to-morrow.
However, I..."
"Why, you'll spoil him!" cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, bursting into the room.
"I've only just got him in hand—and in one morning he has been searched, arrested, taken by the collar by a policeman, and here ladies are cooing to him in the governor's drawing-room.
Every bone in his body is aching with rapture; in his wildest dreams he had never hoped for such good fortune.
Now he'll begin informing against the Socialists after this!"
"Impossible, Pyotr Stepanovitch!
Socialism is too grand an idea to be unrecognised by Stepan Trofimovitch." Yulia Mihailovna took up the gauntlet with energy.
"It's a great idea but its exponents are not always great men, et brisons-la, mon cher," Stepan Trofimovitch ended, addressing his son and rising gracefully from his seat.
But at this point an utterly unexpected circumstance occurred.
Von Lembke had been in the room for some time but seemed unnoticed by anyone, though every one had seen him come in.
In accordance with her former plan, Yulia Mihailovna went on ignoring him.
He took up his position near the door and with a stern face listened gloomily to the conversation.
Hearing an allusion to the events of the morning, he began fidgeting uneasily, stared at the prince, obviously struck by his stiffly starched, prominent collar; then suddenly he seemed to start on hearing the voice of Pyotr Stepanovitch and seeing him burst in; and no sooner had Stepan Trofimovitch uttered his phrase about Socialists than Lembke went up to him, pushing against Lyamshin, who at once skipped out of the way with an affected gesture of surprise, rubbing his shoulder and pretending that he had been terribly bruised.
"Enough!" said Von Lembke to Stepan Trofimovitch, vigorously gripping the hand of the dismayed gentleman and squeezing it with all his might in both of his.
"Enough! The filibusters of our day are unmasked.
Not another word.
Measures have been taken...."
He spoke loudly enough to be heard by all the room, and concluded with energy.
The impression he produced was poignant.
Everybody felt that something was wrong.
I saw Yulia Mihailovna turn pale.
The effect was heightened by a trivial accident.
After announcing that measures had been taken, Lembke turned sharply and walked quickly towards the door, but he had hardly taken two steps when he stumbled over a rug, swerved forward, and almost fell.
For a moment he stood still, looked at the rug at which he had stumbled, and, uttering aloud
"Change it!" went out of the room.
Yulia Mihailovna ran after him.
Her exit was followed by an uproar, in which it was difficult to distinguish anything.
Some said he was "deranged," others that he was "liable to attacks"; others put their fingers to their forehead; Lyamshin, in the corner, put his two fingers above his forehead.
People hinted at some domestic difficulties—in a whisper, of course.
No one took up his hat; all were waiting.
I don't know what Yulia Mihailovna managed to do, but five minutes later she came back, doing her utmost to appear composed.
She replied evasively that Andrey Antonovitch was rather excited, but that it meant nothing, that he had been like that from a child, that she knew "much better," and that the fete next day would certainly cheer him up.
Then followed a few flattering words to Stepan Trofimovitch simply from civility, and a loud invitation to the members of the committee to open the meeting now, at once.
Only then, all who were not members of the committee prepared to go home; but the painful incidents of this fatal day were not yet over.
I noticed at the moment when Nikolay Stavrogin came in that Liza looked quickly and intently at him and was for a long time unable to take her eyes off him—so much so that at last it attracted attention.
I saw Mavriky Nikolaevitch bend over her from behind; he seemed to mean to whisper something to her, but evidently changed his intention and drew himself up quickly, looking round at every one with a guilty air.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch too excited curiosity; his face was paler than usual and there was a strangely absent-minded look in his eyes.
After flinging his question at Stepan Trofimovitch he seemed to forget about him altogether, and I really believe he even forgot to speak to his hostess.
He did not once look at Liza—not because he did not want to, but I am certain because he did not notice her either.
And suddenly, after the brief silence that followed Yulia Mihailovna's invitation to open the meeting without loss of time, Liza's musical voice, intentionally loud, was heard.
She called to Stavrogin.
"Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, a captain who calls himself a relation of yours, the brother of your wife, and whose name is Lebyadkin, keeps writing impertinent letters to me, complaining of you and offering to tell me some secrets about you.
If he really is a connection of yours, please tell him not to annoy me, and save me from this unpleasantness."
There was a note of desperate challenge in these words—every one realised it.
The accusation was unmistakable, though perhaps it was a surprise to herself.
She was like a man who shuts his eyes and throws himself from the roof.