“You want to sleep, but it’s a question of my dissertation . . .”  Mitya grumbled.  “The dissertation is more important.”

Again there was a silence.  Pavel Ivanitch, who had given the rein to his imagination and was continually hearing footsteps, suddenly leaped up and said in a plaintive voice: 

“Come, I beg you, Mitya!  You are younger and ought to consider me . . . .  I am unwell and . . .  I need sleep. . . .  Go away!”

“That’s egoism. . . .  Why must you be here and not I?  I won’t go as a matter of principle.”

“Come, I ask you to!  Suppose I am an egoist, a despot and a fool . . . but I ask you to go!  For once in my life I ask you a favour!  Show some consideration!”

Mitya shook his head.

“What a beast! . . .” thought Pavel Ivanitch.  “That can’t be a rendezvous with him here!  It’s impossible with him here!”

“I say, Mitya,” he said, “I ask you for the last time. . . .  Show that you are a sensible, humane, and cultivated man!”

“I don’t know why you keep on so!” . . . said Mitya, shrugging his shoulders.  “I’ve said I won’t go, and I won’t.  I shall stay here as a matter of principle. . . .”

At that moment a woman’s face with a turn-up nose peeped into the arbour. . . .

Seeing Mitya and Pavel Ivanitch, it frowned and vanished.

“She is gone!” thought Pavel Ivanitch, looking angrily at Mitya.  “She saw that blackguard and fled!  It’s all spoilt!”

After waiting a little longer, he got up, put on his hat and said: 

“You’re a beast, a low brute and a blackguard!  Yes!  A beast!  It’s mean . . . and silly!  Everything is at an end between us!”

“Delighted to hear it!” muttered Mitya, also getting up and putting on his hat.  “Let me tell you that by being here just now you’ve played me such a dirty trick that I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.”

Pavel Ivanitch went out of the arbour, and beside himself with rage, strode rapidly to his villa.  Even the sight of the table laid for supper did not soothe him.

“Once in a lifetime such a chance has turned up,” he thought in agitation; “and then it’s been prevented!  Now she is offended . . . crushed!”

At supper Pavel Ivanitch and Mitya kept their eyes on their plates and maintained a sullen silence. . . .  They were hating each other from the bottom of their hearts.

“What are you smiling at?” asked Pavel Ivanitch, pouncing on his wife.  “It’s only silly fools who laugh for nothing!”

His wife looked at her husband’s angry face, and went off into a peal of laughter.

“What was that letter you got this morning?” she asked.

“I? . . .  I didn’t get one. . . .”  Pavel Ivanitch was overcome with confusion.  “You are inventing . . . imagination.”

“Oh, come, tell us!  Own up, you did!  Why, it was I sent you that letter!  Honour bright, I did!  Ha ha!”