The Brothers Karamazov
and stepping up to Mitya, began with dignity, though hur-
riedly:
‘We have to make... in brief, I beg you to come this way,
this way to the sofa.... It is absolutely imperative that you
should give an explanation.’
‘The old man!’ cried Mitya frantically. ‘The old man and
his blood!... I understand.’
And he sank, almost fell, on a chair close by, as though he
had been mown down by a scythe.
‘You understand? He understands it! Monster and par-
ricide! Your father’s blood cries out against you!’ the old
captain of police roared suddenly, stepping up to Mitya.
He was beside himself, crimson in the face and quiver-
ing all over.
‘This is impossible!’ cried the small young man. ‘Mihail
Makarovitch, Mihail Makarovitch, this won’t do!... I beg
you’ll allow me to speak. I should never have expected such
behaviour from you..’
‘This is delirium, gentlemen, raving delirium,’ cried the
captain of police; ‘look at him: drunk, at this time of night,
in the company of a disreputable woman, with the blood of
his father on his hands.... It’s delirium!...’ ‘I beg you most
earnestly, dear Mihail Makarovitch, to restrain your feel-
ings,’ the prosecutor said in a rapid whisper to the old police
captain, ‘or I shall be forced to resort to — ‘
But the little lawyer did not allow him to finish. He
turned to Mitya, and delivered himself in a loud, firm, dig-
nified voice:
‘Ex-Lieutenant Karamazov, it is my duty to inform you