"That one's certainly on my side!" the prince thought with a smile.
Kolya slipped in with everyone else: he was talking heatedly with Ippolit, who was one of the visitors. Ippolit listened and grinned.
The prince seated his visitors.
They were all such young, even such underage people, that one could marvel both at the occasion and at the whole ceremony that proceeded from it.
Ivan Fyodorovich Epanchin, for instance, who neither knew nor understood anything in this "new affair," even waxed indignant seeing such youth, and probably would have protested in some way, had he not been stopped by what for him was the strange ardor of his spouse for the prince's private interests.
He stayed, however, partly out of curiosity, partly out of the goodness of his heart, even hoping to be of help and in any case to be on hand with his authority; but the entering General Ivolgin's bow to him from afar made him indignant again; he frowned and resolved to remain stubbornly silent.
Of the four young visitors, however, one was about thirty years old, the retired "lieutenant from Rogozhin's band, a boxer, who himself used to give fifteen roubles to petitioners."
It could be guessed that he had accompanied the others out of bravado, in the capacity of a good friend and, if need be, for support.
Among the rest, the first place and the first role was filled by the one to whom the name of "Pavlishchev's son" was attributed, though he introduced himself as Antip Burdovsky.
This was a young man, poorly and shabbily dressed, in a frock coat with sleeves so greasy they gleamed like a mirror, in a greasy waistcoat buttoned to the top, in a shirt that had disappeared somewhere, in an impossibly greasy black silk scarf twisted into a plait, his hands unwashed, his face all covered with blackheads, fair-haired, and, if one may put it so, with an innocently impudent gaze.
He was of medium height, thin, about twenty-two years old.
Not the least irony, not the least reflection showed in his face; on the contrary, there was a full, dull intoxication with his own rights and, at the same time, something that amounted to a strange and permanent need to be and feel constantly offended.
He spoke with agitation, hurriedly and falteringly, as if not quite enunciating the words, as if he had a speech defect or was a foreigner, though he was, incidentally, of totally Russian origin.
He was accompanied, first, by Lebedev's nephew, already known to the reader, and, second, by Ippolit.
Ippolit was a very young man, about seventeen, or perhaps eighteen, with an intelligent but constantly irritated expression on his face, on which illness had left its terrible marks.
He was thin as a skeleton, pale yellow, his eyes glittered, and two red spots burned on his cheeks.
He coughed incessantly; his every word, almost every breath, was accompanied by wheezing.
A rather advanced stage of consumption was evident.
It seemed that he had no more than two or three weeks left to live.
He was very tired, and sank into a chair before anyone else.
The rest made some show of ceremony on entering and were all but abashed, though they looked grave and were obviously afraid of somehow losing their dignity, which was strangely out of harmony with their reputation as negators of all useless social trivialities, prejudices, and almost everything in the world except their own interests.
"Antip Burdovsky," proclaimed "Pavlishchev's son," hurriedly and falteringly.
"Vladimir Doktorenko," Lebedev's nephew introduced himself clearly, distinctly, and as if even boasting that he was Doktorenko.
"Keller," the retired lieutenant muttered.
"Ippolit Terentyev," the last one shrieked in an unexpectedly shrill voice.
They all finally sat down in a row on chairs opposite the prince; having introduced themselves, they all immediately frowned and, to encourage themselves, shifted their hats from one hand to the other; they all got ready to speak, and they all nevertheless remained silent, waiting for something with a defiant air, in which could be read: "No, brother, you're not going to hoodwink me!"
One could feel that as soon as any one of them began by simply uttering a single first word, they would all immediately start talking at the same time, rivaling and interrupting each other.
VIII
Gentlemen, I wasn't expecting any of you," began the prince. "I myself was sick till today, and as for your business" (he turned to Antip Burdovsky), "I entrusted Gavrila Ardalionovich Ivolgin with it a month ago, of which I then informed you. However, I am not avoiding a personal discussion, only, you must agree, at such an hour ... I suggest that you come with me to another room, if it won't take long . . .
My friends are here now, and believe me . . ." "Friends ... as many as you like, but nevertheless, allow us," Lebedev's nephew suddenly interrupted in a rather admonitory tone, though all the same without raising his voice very much, "allow us to declare to you that you might treat us more respectfully and not make us wait for two hours in your lackeys' quarters."
"And, of course . . . and I . . . and that's prince-like!
And that . . . you, it means you're a general!
And I'm not your lackey!
And I, I . . ." Antip Burdovsky suddenly began muttering in extraordinary excitement, with trembling lips, with an offended trembling in his voice, with spit spraying from his mouth, as if he had all burst or exploded, but then hurrying so much that after a dozen words it was no longer possible to understand him.
"That was prince-like!" Ippolit cried out in a shrill, cracked voice.
"It if happened to me," the boxer growled, "that is, if it had a direct relation to me, as a noble person, then if I was in Burdovsky's place, I'd . . . I . . ."
"By God, gentlemen, I learned only a moment ago that you were here," the prince repeated.
"We're not afraid of your friends, Prince, whoever they may be, because we're within our rights," Lebedev's nephew declared again.
"What right did you have, however, if I may ask," Ippolit shrieked again, now becoming extremely excited, "to present Burdovsky's affair for the judgment of your friends?
Maybe we don't want the judgment of your friends. It's only too clear what the judgment of your friends may mean! . . ."
"But, Mr. Burdovsky, if you finally do not wish to speak here," the prince, extremely astonished at such a beginning, finally managed to put in, "then I say to you, let us go to another room, and, I repeat, I heard about you all only this minute . . ."
"But you have no right, you have no right, you have no right! . . . your friends . . . There! . . ." Burdovsky began babbling again, looking around wildly and warily, and growing the more excited the greater his mistrust and shyness. "You have no right!" And, having uttered that, he stopped abruptly, as if breaking off, and, wordlessly goggling his nearsighted, extremely protuberant eyes with their thick red veins, he stared questioningly at the prince, leaning forward with his whole body.
This time the prince was so astonished that he himself fell silent and also looked at him, goggling his eyes and saying not a word.
"Lev Nikolaevich!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly called out, "read this now, this very moment, it is directly concerned with your affair."
She hastily handed him a weekly newspaper of the humoristic sort and pointed her finger at an article.
While the visitors were still coming in, Lebedev had jumped over to the side of Lizaveta Prokofyevna, whose favor he was currying, and, without saying a word, had taken the newspaper from his side pocket and put it right under her eyes, pointing to a marked-off column.
What Lizaveta Prokofyevna had managed to read had astounded and excited her terribly.
"Wouldn't it be better, however, not to read it aloud?" the prince babbled, very embarrassed. "I'll read it by myself. . . later . . ."
"Then you'd better read it, read it right now, aloud! aloud!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna turned to Kolya, snatching the newspaper, which the prince had barely managed to touch, out of his hands. "Read it aloud so that everybody can hear."
Lizaveta Prokofyevna was a hotheaded and passionate lady, so that suddenly and at once, without thinking long, she would sometimes raise all anchors and set out for the open sea without checking the weather.