"Matryona will make your bed now.
Do you have a suitcase?"
"No, a bundle.
Your brother went to get it; it's in the front hall."
"There's no bundle there except this little one; where did you put it?" asked Kolya, coming back into the room.
"But there's nothing except that," announced the prince, taking his bundle.
"Aha!
And I thought Ferdyshchenko might have filched it."
"Don't blather," Varya said sternly. She also spoke quite drily with the prince and was barely polite with him.
"Chere Babette, you might treat me a little more gently, I'm not Ptitsyn."
"You still ought to be whipped, Kolya, you're so stupid.
You may address all your needs to Matryona. Dinner is at half-past four.
You may dine with us or in your room, whichever you prefer.
Let's go, Kolya, stop bothering him."
"Let's go, decisive character!"
On their way out they ran into Ganya.
"Is father at home?" Ganya asked Kolya and, on receiving an affirmative reply, whispered something in his ear.
Kolya nodded and went out after Varvara Ardalionovna.
"A couple of words, Prince, I forgot to tell you, what with all these . . . doings.
A request: do me a favor—if it's not too much of a strain for you—don't babble here about what just went on between me and Aglaya, or there about what you find here; because there's also enough ugliness here.
To hell with it, though . . . But control yourself, at least for today."
"I assure you that I babbled much less than you think," said the prince, somewhat annoyed at Ganya's reproaches.
Their relations were obviously becoming worse and worse.
"Well, I've already suffered enough on account of you today.
In short, I beg you."
"Note this, too, Gavrila Ardalionovich, that I was not bound in any way earlier and had no reason not to mention the portrait.
You didn't ask me not to."
"Pah, what a vile room," Ganya observed, looking around disdainfully, "dark and windows on the courtyard.
You've come to us inopportunely in all respects . . . Well, that's none of my business; I don't let rooms."
Ptitsyn looked in and called Ganya. He hastily abandoned the prince and went out, though he had wanted to say something more, but was obviously hesitant and as if ashamed to begin; and he had also denounced the room as if from embarrassment.
The prince had just managed to wash and to straighten his clothes a bit when the door opened again and a new figure appeared in it.
This was a gentleman of about thirty, rather tall, broad-shouldered, with an enormous, curly, red-haired head.
His face was fleshy and ruddy, his lips thick, his nose broad and flattened, his eyes small, puffy, and jeering, as if constantly winking.
The whole of it made a rather insolent picture.
His clothes were on the dirty side.
At first he opened the door just enough to thrust his head in.
This thrust-in head surveyed the room for about five seconds, then the door slowly began to open, the whole figure was outlined on the threshold, but the visitor did not come in yet, but squinted and went on studying the prince from the threshold.
Finally he closed the door behind him, approached, sat down on a chair, took the prince firmly by the hand and seated him at an angle to himself on the sofa.
"Ferdyshchenko," he said, peering intently and questioningly into the prince's face.
"What about it?" the prince replied, almost bursting into laughter.
"A tenant," Ferdyshchenko spoke again, peering in the same way.
"You want to become acquainted?"
"Ehh!" said the visitor, ruffling up his hair and sighing, and he started looking into the opposite corner.
"Do you have any money?" he asked suddenly, turning to the prince.
"A little."
"How much, precisely?"
"Twenty-five roubles."
"Show me."
The prince took a twenty-five-rouble note from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Ferdyshchenko.
The man unfolded it, looked at it, turned it over, then held it up to the light.