“Nikolay Ilyitch,” he said in a loud whisper.  “Sh-sh!”

Olga Ivanovna looked in surprise at Alyosha, then at Belyaev, then at Alyosha again.

“Just ask him,” Belyaev went on.  “Your Pelagea, like a regular fool, takes them about to restaurants and arranges meetings with their papa.  But that’s not the point:  the point is that their dear papa is a victim, while I’m a wretch who has broken up both your lives. . .”

“Nikolay Ilyitch,” moaned Alyosha.  “Why, you promised on your word of honour!”

“Oh, get away!” said Belyaev, waving him off.  “This is more important than any word of honour.  It’s the hypocrisy revolts me, the lying! . . .”

“I don’t understand it,” said Olga Ivanovna, and tears glistened in her eyes.  “Tell me, Alyosha,” she turned to her son.  “Do you see your father?”

Alyosha did not hear her; he was looking with horror at Belyaev.

“It’s impossible,” said his mother; “I will go and question Pelagea.”

Olga Ivanovna went out.

“I say, you promised on your word of honour!” said Alyosha, trembling all over.

Belyaev dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and went on walking up and down.  He was absorbed in his grievance and was oblivious of the boy’s presence, as he always had been.  He, a grownup, serious person, had no thought to spare for boys.  And Alyosha sat down in the corner and told Sonia with horror how he had been deceived.  He was trembling, stammering, and crying.  It was the first time in his life that he had been brought into such coarse contact with lying; till then he had not known that there are in the world, besides sweet pears, pies, and expensive watches, a great many things for which the language of children has no expression.