1 The Brothers Karamazov
‘Late, pani! ‘A late hour’ I mean,’ the Pole on the sofa ex-
plained.
‘It’s always late with them. They can never do anything!’
Grushenka almost shrieked in her anger. ‘They’re dull
themselves, so they want others to be dull. Before came,
Mitya, they were just as silent and kept turning up their
noses at me.’
‘My goddess!’ cried the Pole on the sofa, ‘I see you’re not
well-disposed to me, that’s why I’m gloomy. I’m ready, pan-
ie,’ added he, addressing Mitya.
‘Begin, panie,’ Mitya assented, pulling his notes out of his
pocket, and laying two hundred-rouble notes on the table. ‘I
want to lose a lot to you. Take your cards. Make the bank.’
‘We’ll have cards from the landlord, panie,’ said the little
Pole, gravely and emphatically.
‘That’s much the best way,’ chimed in Pan Vrublevsky.
‘From the landlord? Very good, I understand, let’s get
them from him. Cards!’ Mitya shouted to the landlord.
The landlord brought in a new, unopened pack, and in-
formed Mitya that the girls were getting ready, and that
the Jews with the cymbals would most likely be here soon;
but the cart with the provisions had not yet arrived. Mitya
jumped up from the table and ran into the next room to
give orders, but only three girls had arrived, and Marya was
not there yet. And he did not know himself what orders to
give and why he had run out. He only told them to take out
of the box the presents for the girls, the sweets, the toffee
and the fondants. ‘And vodka for Andrey, vodka for An-
drey!’ he cried in haste. ‘I was rude to Andrey!’