"Most illustrious, two words with you."cried Grushenka.
"What do you want?"
"In the next room, I've two words to say to you, something pleasant, very pleasant. You'll be glad to hear it."
The little pan was taken aback and looked apprehensively at Mitya.
He agreed at once, however, on condition that Pan Vrublevsky went with them.
"The bodyguard?
Let him come, and I want him, too.
I must have him!" cried Mitya. "March, panovie!"
"Where are you going?" asked Grushenka, anxiously.
"We'll be back in one moment," answered Mitya.
There was a sort of boldness, a sudden confidence shining in his eyes. His face had looked very different when he entered the room an hour before.
He led the Poles, not into the large room where the chorus of girls was assembling and the table was being laid, but into the bedroom on the right, where the trunks and packages were kept, and there were two large beds, with pyramids of cotton pillows on each.
There was a lighted candle on a small deal table in the corner.
The small man and Mitya sat down to this table, facing each other, while the huge Vrublevsky stood beside them, his hands behind his back.
The Poles looked severe but were evidently inquisitive.
"What can I do for you, panie?" lisped the little Pole.
"Well, look here, panie, I won't keep you long. There's money for you," he pulled out his notes. "Would you like three thousand? Take it and go your way."
The Pole gazed open-eyed at Mitya, with a searching look.
"Three thousand, panie?" He exchanged glances with Vrublevsky.
"Three, panovie, three!
Listen, panie, I see you're a sensible man.
Take three thousand and go to the devil, and Vrublevsky with you d'you hear?
But, at once, this very minute, and for ever. You understand that, panie, for ever. Here's the door, you go out of it.
What have you got there, a great-coat, a fur coat?
I'll bring it out to you.
They'll get the horses out directly, and then-good-bye, panie!"
Mitya awaited an answer with assurance.
He had no doubts.
An expression of extraordinary resolution passed over the Pole's face.
"And the money, panie?"
"The money, panie? Five hundred roubles I'll give you this moment for the journey, and as a first instalment, and two thousand five hundred to-morrow, in the town- I swear on my honour, I'll get it, I'll get it at any cost!" cried Mitya.
The Poles exchanged glances again.
The short man's face looked more forbidding.
"Seven hundred, seven hundred, not five hundred, at once, this minute, cash down!" Mitya added, feeling something wrong. "What's the matter, panie?
Don't you trust me?
I can't give you the whole three thousand straight off.
If I give it, you may come back to her to-morrow.... Besides, I haven't the three thousand with me. I've got it at home in the town," faltered Mitya, his spirit sinking at every word he uttered. "Upon my word, the money's there, hidden."
In an instant an extraordinary sense of personal dignity showed itself in the little man's face.
"What next?" he asked ironically.
"For shame!" and he spat on the floor.
Pan Vrublevsky spat too.
"You do that, panie," said Mitya, recognising with despair that all was over, "because you hope to make more out of Grushenka?
You're a couple of capons, that's what you are!"
"This is a mortal insult!" The little Pole turned as red as a crab, and he went out of the room, briskly, as though unwilling to hear another word.
Vrublevsky swung out after him, and Mitya followed, confused and crestfallen.
He was afraid of Grushenka, afraid that the Pan would at once raise an outcry.
And so indeed he did.
The Pole walked into the room and threw himself in a theatrical attitude before Grushenka.
"Pani Agrippina, I have received a mortal insult!" he exclaimed. But Grushenka suddenly lost all patience, as though they had wounded her in the tenderest spot.
"Speak Russian! Speak Russian!" she cried, "not another word of Polish! You used to talk Russian. You can't have forgotten it in five years." She was red with passion.