The Brothers Karamazovmost surprising. ‘It’s only Mitya Karamazov, you know, so
you can overlook it. It would be inexcusable in a sensible
man; but you can forgive it in Mitya. Ha ha!’
Nikolay Parfenovitch listened, and laughed too. Though
the prosecutor did not laugh, he kept his eyes fixed keenly
on Mitya, as though anxious not to miss the least syllable,
the slightest movement, the smallest twitch of any feature
of his face.
‘That’s how we have treated you from the beginning,’ said
Nikolay Parfenovitch, still laughing. ‘We haven’t tried to put
you out by asking how you got up in the morning and what
you had for breakfast. We began, indeed, with questions of
the greatest importance.’
‘I understand. I saw it and appreciated it, and I appreciate
still more your present kindness to me, an unprecedented
kindness, worthy of your noble hearts. We three here are
gentlemen and let everything be on the footing of mutual
confidence between educated, well-bred people, who have
the common bond of noble birth and honour. In any case,
allow me to look upon you as my best friends at this mo-
ment of my life, at this moment when my honour is assailed.
That’s no offence to you, gentlemen, is it?’
On the contrary. You’ve expressed all that so well, Dmitri
Fyodorovitch,’ Nikolay Parfenovitch answered with digni-
fied approbation.
‘And enough of those trivial questions, gentlemen, all
those tricky questions! cried Mitya enthusiastically. ‘Or
there’s simply no knowing where we shall get to! Is there?’
‘I will follow your sensible advice entirely,’ the prosecutor