"Whom do you mean?" asked Yudushka, trembling with excitement.
"Oh, just an acquaintance of mine."
"I see. Well, you'd better make that clear. Lord knows what's in your head. Maybe it is one of us that you style so."
Everybody became silent. The glasses of tea remained untouched. Yudushka leaned against the back of his chair, swaying nervously. Petenka, seeing that all hope was gone, had a sensation of deadly anguish, under the influence of which he was ready to go to any lengths. But father and son looked at each other with an indescribable smile. Hardened though Porfiry Vladimirych was, the minute was nearing when he would be unable to control himself.
"You'd better go, while the going's good," he burst out, finally. "You better had."
"I'm going."
"Then why wait? I see you're trying to pick a quarrel, and I don't want to quarrel with anybody. We live here quietly and in good order, without disputes. Your old grandmother is here. You ought to have regard for her at least. Well, tell us why you came here?"
"I told you why."
"If it's only for that, you are wasting your efforts. Go at once, my son. Hey, who's there? Have the horses ready for the young master. And some fried chicken, and caviar, and other things, eggs, I suppose. Wrap them up well in paper. You'll take a bite at the station, my son, while they feed the horses. Godspeed!"
"No, I am not going yet. I'm going to church first to have a memorial service performed for the murdered servant of God, Vladimir."