"Am I drunk?"
"Not drunk, but worse."
"I'm drunk in spirit, Pyotr Ilyitch, drunk in spirit! But that's enough!"
"What are you doing, loading the pistol?"
"I'm loading the pistol."
Unfastening the pistol-case, Mitya actually opened the powder horn, and carefully sprinkled and rammed in the charge.
Then he took the bullet and, before inserting it, held it in two fingers in front of the candle.
"Why are you looking at the bullet?" asked Pyotr Ilyitch, watching him with uneasy curiosity.
"Oh, a fancy.
Why, if you meant to put that bullet in your brain, would you look at it or not?"
"Why look at it?"
"It's going into my brain, so it's interesting to look and see what it's like. But that's foolishness, a moment's foolishness.
Now that's done," he added, putting in the bullet and driving it home with the ramrod. "Pyotr Ilyitch, my dear fellow, that's nonsense, all nonsense, and if only you knew what nonsense!
Give me a little piece of paper now."
"Here's some paper."
"No, a clean new piece, writing-paper.
That's right." And taking a pen from the table, Mitya rapidly wrote two lines, folded the paper in four, and thrust it in his waistcoat pocket.
He put the pistols in the case, locked it up, and kept it in his hand.
Then he looked at Pyotr Ilyitch with a slow, thoughtful smile.
"Now, let's go."
"Where are we going?
No, wait a minute.... Are you thinking of putting that bullet in your brain, perhaps?" Pyotr Ilyitch asked uneasily.
"I was fooling about the bullet!
I want to live. I love life, You may be sure of that.
I love golden-haired Phorbus and his warm light.... Dear Pyotr Ilyitch, do you know how to step aside?"
"What do you mean by 'stepping aside'?"
"Making way.
Making way for a dear creature, and for one I hate.
And to let the one I hate become dear- that's what making way means!
And to say to them: God bless you, go your way, pass on, while I-"
"While you-?"
"That's enough, let's go."
"Upon my word. I'll tell someone to prevent your going there," said Pyotr Ilyitch, looking at him.
"What are you going to Mokroe for, now?"
"There's a woman there, a woman. That's enough for you. You shut up."
"Listen, though you're such a savage I've always liked you.... I feel anxious."
"Thanks, old fellow.
I'm a savage you say.
Savages, savages!
That's what I am always saying. Savages!
Why, here's Misha! I was forgetting him."
Misha ran in, post-haste, with a handful of notes in change, and reported that everyone was in a bustle at the Plotnikovs'; "They're carrying down the bottles, and the fish, and the tea; it will all be ready directly."
Mitya seized ten roubles and handed it to Pyotr Ilyitch, then tossed another ten-rouble note to Misha.
"Don't dare to do such a thing!" cried Pyotr Ilyitch. "I won't have it in my house, it's a bad, demoralising habit.
Put your money away. Here, put it here, why waste it?
It would come in handy to-morrow, and I dare say you'll be coming to me to borrow ten roubles again.
Why do you keep putting the notes in your side pocket?
Ah, you'll lose them!"
"I say, my dear fellow, let's go to Mokroe together."
"What should I go for?"