The boy stood a minute, shook his head, decorously smiled, and went out.
'Yes, there are capital people here,' pursued Piotr Petrovitch; 'people of soul, of feeling.... Would you like me to introduce you?--such jolly chaps.... They'll all be glad to know you. I say... Bobrov is dead; that's a sad thing.'
'What Bobrov?'
'Sergay Bobrov; he was a capital fellow; he took me under his wing as an ignoramus from the wilds. And Panteley Gornostaev is dead. All dead, all!'
'Have you been living all the time in Moscow? You haven't been away to the country?'
'To the country!... My country place is sold.'
'Sold?'
'By auction.... There! what a pity you didn't buy it.'
'What are you going to live on, Piotr Petrovitch?'
'I shan't die of hunger; God will provide when I've no money. I shall have friends. And what is money.... Dust and ashes! Gold is dust!'