“Of course not, and I don’t feel much pain now.”
“That’s because your finger is in the water. It must be changed directly, for it will get warm in a minute. Yulia, bring some ice from the cellar and another basin of water. Now she is gone, I can speak; will you give me the letter I sent you yesterday, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch—be quick, for mamma will be back in a minute and I don’t want—”
“I haven’t got the letter.”
“That’s not true, you have. I knew you would say that. You’ve got it in that pocket. I’ve been regretting that joke all night. Give me back the letter at once, give it me.”
“I’ve left it at home.”
“But you can’t consider me as a child, a little girl, after that silly joke! I beg your pardon for that silliness, but you must bring me the letter, if you really haven’t got it—bring it to‐day, you must, you must.”
“To‐day I can’t possibly, for I am going back to the monastery and I shan’t come and see you for the next two days—three or four perhaps—for Father Zossima—”
“Four days, what nonsense! Listen. Did you laugh at me very much?”
“I didn’t laugh at all.”
“Why not?”