"Give him something, Mitya," said Grushenka. "Give him a present, he's poor, you know.
Ah, the poor, the insulted!...
Do you know, Mitya, I shall go into a nunnery.
No, I really shall one day.
Alyosha said something to me to-day that I shall remember all my life.... Yes.... But to-day let us dance.
To-morrow to the nunnery, but to-day we'll dance.
I want to play to-day, good people, and what of it? God will forgive us.
If I were God, I'd forgive everyone:
'My dear sinners, from this day forth I forgive you.'
I'm going to beg forgiveness:
'Forgive me, good people, a silly wench.'
I'm a beast, that's what I am.
But I want to pray.
I gave a little onion.
Wicked as I've been, I want to pray.
Mitya, let them dance, don't stop them.
Everyone in the world is good. Everyone- even the worst of them.
The world's a nice place.
Though we're bad the world's all right.
We're good and bad, good and bad.... Come, tell me, I've something to ask you: come here everyone, and I'll ask you: Why am I so good?
You know I am good. I'm very good.... Come, why am I so good?" So Grushenka babbled on, getting more and more drunk. At last she announced that she was going to dance, too.
She got up from her chair, staggering. "Mitya, don't give me any more wine- if I ask you, don't give it to me.
Wine doesn't give peace.
Everything's going round, the stove, and everything.
I want to dance.
Let everyone see how I dance... let them see how beautifully I dance..."
She really meant it. She pulled a white cambric handkerchief out of her pocket, and took it by one corner in her right hand, to wave it in the dance.
Mitya ran to and fro, the girls were quiet, and got ready to break into a dancing song at the first signal.
Maximov, hearing that Grushenka wanted to dance, squealed with delight, and ran skipping about in front of her, humming:
With legs so slim and sides so trim And its little tail curled tight.
But Grushenka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away.
"Sh-h!
Mitya, why don't they come?
Let everyone come... to look on.
Call them in, too, that were locked in.... Why did you lock them in?
Tell them I'm going to dance. Let them look on, too..."
Mitya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door, and began knocking to the Poles with his fist.
"Hi, you... Podvysotskis!
Come, she's going to dance. She calls you."
"Lajdak!" one of the Poles shouted in reply.
"You're a lajdak yourself!
You're a little scoundrel, that's what you are."
"Leave off laughing at Poland," said Kalganov sententiously. He too was drunk.
"Be quiet, boy!
If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn't mean that I called all Poland so.
One lajdak doesn't make a Poland.
Be quiet, my pretty boy, eat a sweetmeat."
"Ach, what fellows!
As though they were not men.
Why won't they make friends?" said Grushenka, and went forward to dance.