“Whom do you mean—Mitya?” Alyosha asked, bewildered.
“Not him, damn the monster!” Ivan shouted, in a frenzy. “Do you know that he visits me? How did you find out? Speak!”
“Who is he! I don’t know whom you are talking about,” Alyosha faltered, beginning to be alarmed.
“Yes, you do know ... or how could you—? It’s impossible that you don’t know.”
Suddenly he seemed to check himself. He stood still and seemed to reflect. A strange grin contorted his lips.
“Brother,” Alyosha began again, in a shaking voice, “I have said this to you, because you’ll believe my word, I know that. I tell you once and for all, it’s not you. You hear, once for all! God has put it into my heart to say this to you, even though it may make you hate me from this hour.”
But by now Ivan had apparently regained his self‐control.
“Alexey Fyodorovitch,” he said, with a cold smile, “I can’t endure prophets and epileptics—messengers from God especially—and you know that only too well. I break off all relations with you from this moment and probably for ever. I beg you to leave me at this turning. It’s the way to your lodgings, too. You’d better be particularly careful not to come to me to‐day! Do you hear?”
He turned and walked on with a firm step, not looking back.
“Brother,” Alyosha called after him, “if anything happens to you to‐day, turn to me before any one!”