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He sank into silence again. Twenty minutes had passed since he had run in. His first horror was over, but evidently some new fixed determination had taken possession of him. He suddenly stood up, smiling dreamily. What has happened to you, sir? said Fenya, pointing to his hands again. She spoke compassionately, as though she felt very near to him now in his grief. Mitya looked at his hands again. Thats blood, Fenya, he said, looking at her with a strange expression. Thats human blood, and, my God! why was it shed? but Fenya theres a fence here (he looked at her as though setting her a riddle) a high fence, and terrible to look at. But, at dawn to-morrow, when the sun rises, Mitya will leap over that fence. You dont understand what fence, Fenya, and, never mind. Youll hear to-morrow and understand and now, good-bye. I wont stand in her way. Ill step aside, I know how to step aside. Live, my joy. You loved me for an hour, remember Mityenka Karamazov so for ever. She always used to call me Mityenka, do you remember? And with those words he went suddenly out of the kitchen. Fenya was almost more frightened at this sudden departure than she had been when he ran in and attacked her. Just ten minutes later Dmitri went in to Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin, the young official with whom he had pawned his pistols. It was by now halfpast eight, and Pyotr Ilyitch had finished his evening tea, and had just put his coat on again to go to the Metropolis to play billiards. Mitya caught him coming out. Seeing him with his face all smeared with blood, the young man uttered a cry of surprise. Good Heavens! What is the matter? Ive come for my pistols, said Mitya, and brought you the money. And thanks very much. Im in a hurry, Pyotr Ilyitch, please make haste. Pyotr Ilyitch grew more and more surprised; he suddenly caught sight of a bundle of bank-notes in Mityas hand, and what was more, he had walked in holding the notes as no one walks in and no one carries money: he had them in his right hand, and held them outstretched as if to show them. Perhotins servant- boy, who met Mitya in the passage, said afterwards that he walked into the passage in the same way, with the money outstretched in his hand, so he must have been carrying them like that even in the street. They were all rainbow-coloured hundred-rouble notes, and the fingers holding them were covered with blood. When Pyotr Ilyitch was questioned later on as to the sum of money, he said that it was difficult to judge at a glance, but that it might have been two thousand, or perhaps three, but it was a big, fat bundle. Dmitri Fyodorovitch, so he testified afterwards, seemed unlike himself, too; not drunk, but, as it were, exalted, lost to everything, but at the same time, as it were, absorbed, as though pondering and searching for something and unable to come to a decision. He was in great haste, answered abruptly and very strangely, and at moments seemed not at all dejected but quite cheerful. But what is the matter with you? Whats wrong? cried Pyotr Ilyitch, looking wildly at his guest. How is it that youre all covered with blood? Have you had a fall? Look at yourself! He took him by the elbow and led him to the glass. Seeing his blood-stained face, Mitya started and scowled wrathfully. Damnation! Thats the last straw, he muttered angrily, hurriedly changing the notes from his right hand to the left, and impulsively jerked the handkerchief out of his pocket. But the handkerchief turned out to be soaked with blood, too (it was the handkerchief he had used to wipe Grigorys face). There was |
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