1 The Brothers Karamazov
word of it,’ cried Alyosha, unable to restrain a good-hu-
moured smile.
‘You are pleased to be sarcastic, too, Alexey Fyodoro-
vitch.’
‘No, no, I’m joking, forgive me. I’ve something quite dif-
ferent in my mind. But, excuse me, who can have told you
all this? You can’t have been at Katerina Ivanovna’s yourself
when he was talking about you?’
‘I wasn’t there, but Dmitri Fyodorovitch was; and I heard
him tell it with my own ears; if you want to know, he didn’t
tell me, but I overheard him, unintentionally, of course, for I
was sitting in Grushenka’s bedroom and I couldn’t go away
because Dmitri Fyodorovitch was in the next room.’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten she was a relation of yours.’
‘A relation! That Grushenka a relation of mine!’ cried
Rakitin, turning crimson. ‘Are you mad? You’re out of your
mind!’
‘Why, isn’t she a relation of yours? I heard so.’
‘Where can you have heard it? You Karamazovs brag of
being an ancient, noble family, though your father used to
run about playing the buffoon at other men’s tables, and
was only admitted to the kitchen as a favour. I may be only
a priest’s son, and dirt in the eyes of noblemen like you, but
don’t insult me so lightly and wantonly. I have a sense of
honour, too, Alexey Fyodorovitch, I couldn’t be a relation
of Grushenka, a common harlot. I beg you to understand
that!’
Rakitin was intensely irritated.
‘Forgive me, for goodness’ sake, I had no idea... besides...