“I know he’s her brother! What a person you are, really,” she interrupted impatiently. “I want to know what he’s like; what sort of man he is.”
“C’est un pense-creux d’ici. C’est le meilleur et le plus irascible homme du monde.”
“I’ve heard that he’s rather queer. But that wasn’t what I meant. I’ve heard that he knows three languages, one of them English, and can do literary work. In that case I’ve a lot of work for him. I want someone to help me and the sooner the better. Would he take the work or not? He’s been recommended to me.…”
“Oh, most certainly he will. Et vous ferez un bienfait.…”
“I’m not doing it as a bienfait. I need someone to help me.”
“I know Shatov pretty well,” I said, “and if you will trust me with a message to him I’ll go to him this minute.”
“Tell him to come to me at twelve o’clock to-morrow morning. Capital! Thank you. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, are you ready?”
They went away. I ran at once, of course, to Shatov.
“Mon ami!” said Stepan Trofimovitch, overtaking me on the steps. “Be sure to be at my lodging at ten or eleven o’clock when I come back. Oh, I’ve acted very wrongly in my conduct to you and to every one.”
VIII