“Well, look here, panie, I won’t keep you long. There’s money for you,” he pulled out his notes. “Would you like three thousand? Take it and go your way.”
The Pole gazed open‐eyed at Mitya, with a searching look.
“Three thousand, panie?” He exchanged glances with Vrublevsky.
“Three, panovie, three! Listen, panie, I see you’re a sensible man. Take three thousand and go to the devil, and Vrublevsky with you—d’you hear? But, at once, this very minute, and for ever. You understand that, panie, for ever. Here’s the door, you go out of it. What have you got there, a great‐coat, a fur coat? I’ll bring it out to you. They’ll get the horses out directly, and then—good‐by, panie!”
Mitya awaited an answer with assurance. He had no doubts. An expression of extraordinary resolution passed over the Pole’s face.
“And the money, panie?”
“The money, panie? Five hundred roubles I’ll give you this moment for the journey, and as a first installment, and two thousand five hundred to‐ morrow, in the town—I swear on my honor, I’ll get it, I’ll get it at any cost!” cried Mitya.
The Poles exchanged glances again. The short man’s face looked more forbidding.
“Seven hundred, seven hundred, not five hundred, at once, this minute, cash down!” Mitya added, feeling something wrong. “What’s the matter, panie? Don’t you trust me? I can’t give you the whole three thousand straight off. If I give it, you may come back to her to‐morrow.... Besides, I haven’t the three thousand with me. I’ve got it at home in the town,” faltered Mitya, his spirit sinking at every word he uttered. “Upon my word, the money’s there, hidden.”
In an instant an extraordinary sense of personal dignity showed itself in the little man’s face.