The Brothers Karamazov
So we will come to dinner. Thank the Father Superior,’ he
said to the monk.
‘No, it is my duty now to conduct you to the elder,’ an-
swered the monk.
‘If so I’ll go straight to the Father Superior — to the Fa-
ther Superior,’ babbled Maximov.
‘The Father Superior is engaged just now. But as you
please — ‘ the monk hesitated.
‘Impertinent old man!’ Miusov observed aloud, while
Maximov ran back to the monastery.
‘He’s like von Sohn,’ Fyodor Pavlovitch said suddenly.
‘Is that all you can think of?... In what way is he like von
Sohn? Have you ever seen von Sohn?’
‘I’ve seen his portrait. It’s not the features, but something
indefinable. He’s a second von Sohn. I can always tell from
the physiognomy.’
‘Ah, I dare say you are a connoisseur in that. But, look
here, Fyodor Pavlovitch, you said just now that we had giv-
en our word to behave properly. Remember it. I advise you
to control yourself. But, if you begin to play the fool I don’t
intend to be associated with you here... You see what a man
he is’ — he turned to the monk — ‘I’m afraid to go among
decent people with him.’ A fine smile, not without a certain
slyness, came on to the pale, bloodless lips of the monk, but
he made no reply, and was evidently silent from a sense of
his own dignity. Miusov frowned more than ever.
‘Oh, devil take them all! An outer show elaborated
through centuries, and nothing but charlatanism and non-
sense underneath,’ flashed through Miusov’s mind.