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drinking liqueur, and eating sweets.
‘They’re a lousy lot, Dmitri Fyodorovitch,’ he said. ‘I’d
give them a kick, every one of them, and they’d take it as an
honour- that’s all they’re worth!’
Mitya remembered Andrey again, and ordered punch to
be sent out to him. ‘I was rude to him just now,’ he repeat-
ed with a sinking, softened voice. Kalgonov did to drink,
and at first did not care for the girls singing; but after he
had drunk a couple of glasses of champagne he became ex-
traordinarily lively, strolling about the room, laughing and
praising the music and the songs, admiring everyone and
everything. Maximov, blissfully drunk, never left his side.
Grushenka, too, was beginning to get drunk. Pointing to
Kalganov, she said to Mitya:
‘What a dear, charming boy he is!’
And Mitya, delighted, ran to kiss Kalgonov and Maxi-
mov. Oh, great were his hopes! She had said nothing yet,
and seemed, indeed, purposely to refrain from speaking.
But she looked at him from time to time with caressing and
passionate eyes. At last she suddenly gripped his hand and
drew him vigorously to her. She was sitting at the moment
in the low chair by the door.
‘How was it you came just now, eh? Have you walked in!...
I was frightened. So you wanted to give me up to him, did
you? Did you really want to?’
‘I didn’t want to spoil your happiness!’ Mitya faltered
blissfully. But she did not need his answer.
‘Well, go and enjoy yourself...’ she sent him away once
more. ‘Don’t cry, I’ll call you back again.’