0 The Brothers Karamazov
the town,’ faltered Mitya, his spirit sinking at every word he
uttered. ‘Upon my word, the money’s there, hidden.’
In an instant an extraordinary sense of personal dignity
showed itself in the little man’s face.
‘What next?’ he asked ironically. ‘For shame!’ and he spat
on the floor. Pan Vrublevsky spat too.
‘You do that, panie,’ said Mitya, recognising with despair
that all was over, ‘because you hope to make more out of
Grushenka? You’re a couple of capons, that’s what you are!’
‘This is a mortal insult!’ The little Pole turned as red as
a crab, and he went out of the room, briskly, as though un-
willing to hear another word. Vrublevsky swung out after
him, and Mitya followed, confused and crestfallen. He was
afraid of Grushenka, afraid that the Pan would at once
raise an outcry. And so indeed he did. The Pole walked into
the room and threw himself in a theatrical attitude before
Grushenka.
‘Pani Agrippina, I have received a mortal insult!’ he
exclaimed. But Grushenka suddenly lost all patience, as
though they had wounded her in the tenderest spot.
‘Speak Russian! Speak Russian!’ she cried, ‘not another
word of Polish! You used to talk Russian. You can’t have
forgotten it in five years.’
She was red with passion.
‘Pani Agrippina-.’
‘My name’s Agrafena, Grushenka, speak Russian or I
won’t listen!’
The Pole gasped with offended dignity, and quickly and
pompously delivered himself in broken Russian: