“Why is he mine and inseparable?” Stepan Trofimovitch protested timidly.
“Where is he now?” Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and sternly.
“He … he has an infinite respect for you, and he’s gone to S——k, to receive an inheritance left him by his mother.”
“He seems to do nothing but get money. And how’s Shatov? Is he just the same?”
“Irascible, mais bon.”
“I can’t endure your Shatov. He’s spiteful and he thinks too much of himself.”
“How is Darya Pavlovna?”
“You mean Dasha? What made you think of her?” Varvara Petrovna looked at him inquisitively. “She’s quite well. I left her with the Drozdovs. I heard something about your son in Switzerland. Nothing good.”
“Oh, c’est un histoire bien bête! Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour vous raconter …”
“Enough, Stepan Trofimovitch. Leave me in peace. I’m worn out. We shall have time to talk to our heart’s content, especially of what’s unpleasant. You’ve begun to splutter when you laugh, it’s a sign of senility! And what a strange way of laughing you’ve taken to!… Good Heavens, what a lot of bad habits you’ve fallen into! Karmazinov won’t come and see you! And people are only too glad to make the most of anything as it is.… You’ve betrayed yourself completely now. Well, come, that’s enough, that’s enough, I’m tired. You really might have mercy upon one!”