Again those dreadful figures—he must refer back.
"This gold watch, gentlemen, was presented to me, and I cannot think without emotion of the moment—when I received it. Perhaps you think I'm selfish gentlemen? I'm not. I know it's not good form to speak of oneself, but on such an occasion as this it seems very natural to glance at—the past. I only want to mention one little incident."
He had forgotten Levin and the significance of the day and was under the impression that he was celebrating the close of his bachelor-life. All of a sudden he remembered the scene between himself and his brother, and his triumph. He felt a pressing need to talk of this triumph, but he could not remember the details. He merely remembered having proved that his brother was a blackguard; he had forgotten the chain of evidence with the exception of only two facts: his brother and a blackguard: he tried to link them together, but they always fell apart. His brain worked incessantly and picture followed on picture. He must tell them of a generous action he had done; he recollected that he had given his wife some money in the morning, and had allowed her to sleep as long as she liked and have breakfast in bed; but that wasn't a suitable subject. He was in an unpleasant position, but fear of a silence and the two pairs of sharp eyes which followed his every movement, helped him to pull himself together. He realized that he was still standing, watch in hand. The watch? How had it got into his hand? Why were his friends sitting down, almost blotted out by the smoke, while he was on his legs? Oh! of course! He had been telling them about the watch, and they were waiting for the continuation of the story.
"This watch, gentlemen, is nothing special at all. It's only French gold."
The two whilom owners of silver watches opened their eyes wide. This information was new to them.
"And I believe it has only seven rubies—it's not a good watch at all—on the contrary—I should rather call it a cheap one...."
Some secret cause of which his brain was hardly conscious, made him angry; he must vent his wrath on something; tapping the table with his watch, he shouted:
"It's a damned bad watch, I say! Listen to me when I'm speaking! Don't you believe what I say, Fritz? Answer me! Why do you look so vicious? You don't believe me. I can read it in your eyes. Fritz, you don't believe what I'm saying. Believe me, I know human nature. And I might stand security for you once more! Either you are a liar, or I am! Shall I prove to you that you are a scoundrel? Shall I? Listen, Nyström, if—I—forge a bill—am I a scoundrel?"
"Of course you are a scoundrel, the devil take you!" answered Nyström, without a moment's hesitation.
"Yes—Yes!"