“Stop, stop, stop, dear boy, one more little glass. I’ve hurt Alyosha’s feelings. You’re not angry with me, Alyosha? My dear little Alexey!”
“No, I am not angry. I know your thoughts. Your heart is better than your head.”
“My heart better than my head, is it? Oh, Lord! And that from you. Ivan, do you love Alyosha?”
“Yes.”
“You must love him” (Fyodor Pavlovitch was by this time very drunk). “Listen, Alyosha, I was rude to your elder this morning. But I was excited. But there’s wit in that elder, don’t you think, Ivan?”
“Very likely.”
“There is, there is. Il y a du Piron là‐dedans. He’s a Jesuit, a Russian one, that is. As he’s an honorable person there’s a hidden indignation boiling within him at having to pretend and affect holiness.”
“But, of course, he believes in God.”
“Not a bit of it. Didn’t you know? Why, he tells every one so, himself. That is, not every one, but all the clever people who come to him. He said straight out to Governor Schultz not long ago: ‘Credo, but I don’t know in what.’ ”
“Really?”