Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 1and of few words, and did not at all satisfy Nikolay Parfeno-
vitch. Grushenka made a deep bow to Mitya.
‘I have told you I am yours, and I will be yours. I will fol-
low you for ever, wherever they may send you. Farewell; you
are guiltless, though you’ve been your own undoing.’
Her lips quivered, tears flowed from her eyes.
‘Forgive me, Grusha, for my love, for ruining you, too,
with my love.’
Mitya would have said something more, but he broke
off and went out. He was at once surrounded by men who
kept a constant watch on him. At the bottom of the steps to
which he had driven up with such a dash the day before with
Andrey’s three horses, two carts stood in readiness. Mavr-
iky Mavrikyevitch, a sturdy, thick-set man with a wrinkled
face, was annoyed about something, some sudden irregu-
larity. He was shouting angrily. He asked Mitya to get into
the cart with somewhat excessive surliness.
‘When I stood him drinks in the tavern, the man had
quite a different face,’ thought Mitya, as he got in. At the
gates there was a crowd of people, peasants, women, and
drivers. Trifon Borissovitch came down the steps too. All
stared at Mitya.
‘Forgive me at parting, good people!’ Mitya shouted sud-
denly from the cart.
‘Forgive us too!’ he heard two or three voices.
‘Good-bye to you, too, Trifon Borissovitch!’
But Trifon Borissovitch did not even turn round. He
was, perhaps, too busy. He, too, was shouting and fussing
about something. It appeared that everything was not yet