MITYA.  I won’t look.  But kindly condescend to permit me to reply, in so far as I am able, and to write some verses for you on a second occasion.

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA. [Laying down the pen] Write if you wish—­only I’ve inked all my fingers; if I’d only known, I’d better not have written.

MITYA.  May I have it?

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA.  Well, take it; only don’t dare to read it while I’m here, but after, when I’ve gone.

Folds together the paper and gives it to him; he conceals it in his pocket.

MITYA.  It shall be as you wish.

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA. [Rises] Will you come up-stairs to us?

MITYA.  I will—­this minute.

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA.  Good-by.

MITYA.  To our pleasant meeting!

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA goes to the door; from the doorway LYUBIM KARPYCH comes in.

SCENE XI

The same and LYUBIM KARPYCH

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA.  Ah!

LYUBIM KARPYCH. [Looking at LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA] Wait!  What sort of a creature is this?  On what pretext?  On what business?  We must consider this matter.

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA.  Is it you, uncle!

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  Oh, it’s I, niece!  What?  You got a fright?  Clear out, never mind!  I’m not the man to tell tales.  I’ll put it in a box, and think it over after, all in my spare time.

LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA.  Good-by. [Goes out.

SCENE XII

MITYA and LYUBIM KARPYCH

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  Mitya, receive unto thyself Lyubim Karpych TORTSOV, the brother of a wealthy merchant.

MITYA.  You are welcome.

LYUBIM KARPYCH. [Sits down] My brother turned me out!  And in the street, in a coat like this—­one has to dance about a bit!  The frost—­at Christmas time—­brrr!—­My hands are frozen, and my feet nipped—­brrr!

MITYA.  Warm yourself up, Lyubim Karpych.

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  You will not drive me away, Mitya?  If you do, I’ll freeze in the yard—­I’ll freeze like a dog.

MITYA.  How could I?  What are you saying?

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  You see, Mitya, my brother turned me out.  As long as I had a little money, I strolled about in warm places; now I have no money, and they won’t let me come in anywhere.  All I had was two francs and some-odd centimes!  Not a great capital!  It wouldn’t build a stone house!  It wouldn’t buy a village!  What could one do with such a capital?  Where put it?  Not take it to a bank!  So then I took this capital and drank it up!—­squandered it!—­That’s the way of it!

MITYA.  Why do you drink, Lyubim Karpych?  That makes you your own enemy.

LYUBIM KARPYCH.  Why do I drink?  From stupidity!  Yes, from my own stupidity. 
Why did you think I drank?

MITYA.  You’d better stop it.