As quickly as possible you must print as many copies as you can, and then distribute them all the winter.
The means will be provided.
You must do as many copies as possible, for you'll be asked for them from other places."
"No, excuse me; I can't undertake such a... I decline."
"You'll take it all the same.
I am acting on the instructions of the central committee, and you are bound to obey."
"And I consider that our centres abroad have forgotten what Russia is like and have lost all touch, and that's why they talk such nonsense.... I even think that instead of many hundreds of quintets in Russia, we are the only one that exists, and there is no network at all," Liputin gasped finally.
"The more contemptible of you, then, to run after the cause without believing in it... and you are running after me now like a mean little cur."
"No, I'm not.
We have a full right to break off and found a new society."
"Fool!" Pyotr Stepanovitch boomed at him threateningly all of a sudden, with flashing eyes.
They stood facing one another for some time.
Pyotr Stepanovitch turned and pursued his way confidently.
The idea flashed through Liputin's mind,
"Turn and go back; if I don't turn now I shall never go back."
He pondered this for ten steps, but at the eleventh a new and desperate idea flashed into his mind: he did not turn and did not go back.
They were approaching Filipov's house, but before reaching it they turned down a side street, or, to be more accurate, an inconspicuous path under a fence, so that for some time they had to walk along a steep slope above a ditch where they could not keep their footing without holding the fence.
At a dark corner in the slanting fence Pyotr Stepanovitch took out a plank, leaving a gap, through which he promptly scrambled.
Liputin was surprised, but he crawled through after him; then they replaced the plank after them.
This was the secret way by which Fedka used to visit Kirillov.
"Shatov mustn't know that we are here," Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered sternly to Liputin.
III
Kirillov was sitting on his leather sofa drinking tea, as he always was at that hour.
He did not get up to meet them, but gave a sort of start and looked at the new-comers anxiously.
"You are not mistaken," said Pyotr Stepanovitch, "it's just that I've come about."
"To-day?"
"No, no, to-morrow... about this time."
And he hurriedly sat down at the table, watching Kirillov's agitation with some uneasiness.
But the latter had already regained his composure and looked as usual.
"These people still refuse to believe in you.
You are not vexed at my bringing Liputin?"
"To-day I am not vexed; to-morrow I want to be alone."
"But not before I come, and therefore in my presence."
"I should prefer not in your presence."
"You remember you promised to write and to sign all I dictated."
"I don't care.
And now will you be here long?"
"I have to see one man and to remain half an hour, so whatever you say I shall stay that half-hour."
Kirillov did not speak.
Liputin meanwhile sat down on one side under the portrait of the bishop.
That last desperate idea gained more and more possession of him.
Kirillov scarcely noticed him.
Liputin had heard of Kirillov's theory before and always laughed at him; but now he was silent and looked gloomily round him.
"I've no objection to some tea," said Pyotr Stepanovitch, moving up. "I've just had some steak and was reckoning on getting tea with you."
"Drink it. You can have some if you like."
"You used to offer it to me," observed Pyotr Stepanovitch sourly.
"That's no matter.
Let Liputin have some too."
"No, I... can't."
"Don't want to or can't?" said Pyotr Stepanovitch, turning quickly to him.