The Brothers Karamazovforgive me, Alyosha. I am like a mother to you... No, no;
quite the contrary. I speak to you now as though you were
my father — mother’s quite out of place. Well, it’s as though I
were confessing to Father Zossima, that’s just it. I called you
a monk just now. Well, that poor young man, your friend,
Rakitin (Mercy on us! I can’t be angry with him. I feel cross,
but not very), that frivolous young man, would you believe
it, seems to have taken it into his head to fall in love with
me. I only noticed it later. At first — a month ago — he only
began to come oftener to see me, almost every day; though,
of course, we were acquainted before. I knew nothing about
it... and suddenly it dawned upon me, and I began to no-
tice things with surprise. You know, two months ago, that
modest, charming, excellent young man, Ilyitch Perhotin,
who’s in the service here, began to be a regular visitor at the
house. You met him here ever so many times yourself. And
he is an excellent, earnest young man, isn’t he? He comes
once every three days, not every day (though I should be
glad to see him every day), and always so well dressed. Alto-
gether, I love young people, Alyosha, talented, modest, like
you, and he has almost the mind of a statesman, he talks
so charmingly, and I shall certainly, certainly try and get
promotion for him. He is a future diplomat. On that awful
day he almost saved me from death by coming in the night.
And your friend Rakitin comes in such boots, and always
stretches them out on the carpet.... He began hinting at his
feelings, in fact, and one day, as he was going, he squeezed
my hand terribly hard. My foot began to swell directly af-
ter he pressed my hand like that. He had met Pyotr Ilyitch