“Well!” and the Assistant Prosecutor waved his hand: “what a trouble these educated criminals are; one can make a muzhik understand, but try to talk to one of these! ‘I can't’ … ‘in a humane manner’ … there they go strumming on psychology!”
“I am no criminal,” Urbenin said quite offended, “I beg you to be more careful in your expressions.…”
“Hold your tongue, my good fellow! We have no time to apologize nor to listen to your dissatisfaction.… If you don't wish to confess, you need not confess, but allow us to consider you a liar.…”
“As you like,” Urbenin grumbled. “You can do with me what you like now.… You have the power.…”
Urbenin made a gesture of indifference, and continued to look out of the window.
“Besides, it's all the same to me: my life is lost.”
“Listen to me, Pëtr Egorych,” I said, “yesterday and the day before you were so overcome by grief, that you were scarcely able to keep on your legs, and you were hardly able to give more than laconic answers; to-day, on the contrary, you have such a blooming, of course, only comparatively blooming, and gay appearance, and even strike out into idle talk. Usually sorrowful people have no wish to talk, while you not only launch out into long conversations, but even make all sorts of trivial complaints. In what way can such a sudden change be explained?”
“And how do you explain it?” Urbenin asked, screwing up his eyes at me in a derisive manner.
“I explain it in this way: that you have forgotten your part. It is difficult to act for any length of time; one either forgets one's part, or it bores one.…”
“Consequently, that was all an invention,” said Urbenin, smiling; “and it does honour to your perspicacity.… Yes, you are right; a great change has taken place in me.…”