How's that?
Who are they?" cried Mitya, greatly dismayed at this unexpected news.
"Well, Timofey was saying they're all gentlefolk. Two from our town- who they are I can't say- and there are two others, strangers, maybe more besides. I didn't ask particularly.
They've set to playing cards, so Timofey said."
"Cards?"
"So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards.
It's most likely not more than eleven."
"Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!" Mitya cried again, nervously.
"May I ask you something, sir?" said Andrey, after a pause. "Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir."
"What is it?"
"Why, Fenya threw herself at your feet just now, and begged you not to harm her mistress, and someone else, too... so you see, sir- It's I am taking you there... forgive me, sir, it's my conscience... maybe it's stupid of me to speak of it-."
Mitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind.
"Are you a driver?" he asked frantically.
"Yes sir."
"Then you know that one has to make way.
What would you say to a driver who wouldn't make way for anyone, but would just drive on and crush people?
No, a driver mustn't run over people.
One can't run over a man. One can't spoil people's lives. And if you have spoilt a life- punish yourself.... If only you've spoilt, if only you've ruined anyone's life- punish yourself and go away."
These phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically.
Though Andrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation.
"That's right, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you're quite right, one mustn't crush or torment a man, or any kind of creature, for every creature is created by God. Take a horse, for instance, for some folks, even among us drivers, drive anyhow. Nothing will restrain them, they just force it along."
"To hell?" Mitya interrupted, and went off into his abrupt, short laugh. "Andrey, simple soul," he seized him by the shoulders again, "tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, or not, what do you think?"
"I don't know, darling, it depends on you, for you are... you see, sir, when the Son of God was nailed on the Cross and died, He went straight down to hell from the Cross, and set free all sinners that were in agony.
And the devil groaned, because he thought that he would get no more sinners in hell.
And God said to him, then,
'Don't groan, for you shall have all the mighty of the earth, the rulers, the chief judges, and the rich men, and shall be filled up as you have been in all the ages till I come again.'
Those were His very words..."
"A peasant legend! Capital!
Whip up the left, Andrey!"
"So you see, sir, who it is hell's for," said Andrey, whipping up the left horse, "but you're like a little child... that's how we look on you... and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God will forgive you for your kind heart."
"And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?"
"What should I forgive you for, sir? You've never done me any harm."
"No, for everyone, for everyone, you here alone, on the road, will you forgive me for everyone?
Speak, simple peasant heart!"
"Oh, sir!
I feel afraid of driving you, your talk is so strange."
But Mitya did not hear.
He was frantically praying and muttering to himself.
"Lord, receive me, with all my lawlessness, and do not condemn me.
Let me pass by Thy judgment... do not condemn me, for I have condemned myself, do not condemn me, for I love Thee, O Lord.
I am a wretch, but I love Thee. If Thou sendest me to hell, I shall love Thee there, and from there I shall cry out that I love Thee for ever and ever.... But let me love to the end.... Here and now for just five hours... till the first light of Thy day... for I love the queen of my soul...
I love her and I cannot help loving her.
Thou seest my whole heart...
I shall gallop up, I shall fall before her and say, 'You are right to pass on and leave me. Farewell and forget your victim... never fret yourself about me!'"
"Mokroe!" cried Andrey, pointing ahead with his whip.
Through the pale darkness of the night loomed a solid black mass of buildings, flung down, as it were, in the vast plain.
The village of Mokroe numbered two thousand inhabitants, but at that hour all were asleep, and only here and there a few lights still twinkled.
"Drive on, Andrey, I come!" Mitya exclaimed, feverishly.
"They're not asleep," said Andrey again, pointing with his whip to the Plastunovs' inn, which was at the entrance to the village. The six windows, looking on the street, were all brightly lighted up.
"They're not asleep," Mitya repeated joyously. "Quicker, Andrey! Gallop! Drive up with a dash! Set the bells ringing!