"Why?"
"This is why."
Vasíly drew out his slender, flexible French sword, and bent it slightly against the floor.
"You mean .... to fight .... with me?..."
"Precisely so."
"But, Vasíly Ivánovitch, pray, enter into my position! How can I—judge for yourself—after what you have told me?... I am an honest man, Vasíly Ivánovitch; I am a nobleman."
"You are a nobleman, you are an honest man,—then be so good as to fight with me."
"Vasíly Ivánovitch!"
"You appear to be a coward, Mr. Rogatchyóff?"
"I am not in the least a coward, Vasíly Ivánovitch. You have thought to frighten me, Vasíly Ivánovitch. 'Come, now,' you said to yourself, 'I 'll scare him, and he 'll turn cowardly; he will instantly consent to anything.'.... No, Vasíly Ivánovitch, I 'm the same sort of nobleman as yourself, although I have not received my education in the capital, it is true; and you will not succeed in terrifying me, excuse me."