FÉDYA [Hides it in his pocket, and wishes to pass out, but sees Petushkóv] Stupid! Vile! Dreary, dreary! Senseless. [Wishes to pass].
Enter Counsel Petrúshin; stout, red, and animated. He approaches Fédya.
PETRÚSHIN. Well, friend! Our affairs are going well—only don't you go and spoil things for me in your last speech!
FÉDYA. I won't speak. What is the use? I shan't do it.
PETRÚSHIN. Yes, you must speak. But don't be excited. The whole matter is now in a nutshell! Only tell them what you told me—that if you are being tried, it is only for not having committed suicide: that is, for not doing what is considered a crime both by civil and ecclesiastical law.
PETRÚSHIN. Why not?
FÉDYA. I don't want to, and shan't. Tell me only, at the worst, what will it be?
PETRÚSHIN. I have already told you—at worst, exile to Siberia.
FÉDYA. Who will be exiled?