But Rogojin understood how things were tending, at last. An inexpressibly painful expression came over his face. He wrung his hands; a groan made its way up from the depths of his soul.
“Surrender her, for God’s sake!” he said to the prince.
All around burst out laughing.
“What? Surrender her to you?” cried Daria Alexeyevna. “To a fellow who comes and bargains for a wife like a moujik! The prince wishes to marry her, and you—”
“So do I, so do I! This moment, if I could! I’d give every farthing I have to do it.”
“You drunken moujik,” said Daria Alexeyevna, once more. “You ought to be kicked out of the place.”
The laughter became louder than ever.
“Do you hear, prince?” said Nastasia Philipovna. “Do you hear how this moujik of a fellow goes on bargaining for your bride?”
“He is drunk,” said the prince, quietly, “and he loves you very much.”
“Won’t you be ashamed, afterwards, to reflect that your wife very nearly ran away with Rogojin?”