he sofa. The latter removed his pipe from his lips with dignity and
observed severely:

"_Panie_, we're here in private. There are other rooms."

"Why, it's you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch! What do you mean?" answered Kalganov
suddenly. "Sit down with us. How are you?"

"Delighted to see you, dear ... and precious fellow, I always thought a
lot of you." Mitya responded, joyfully and eagerly, at once holding out
his hand across the table.

"Aie! How tight you squeeze! You've quite broken my fingers," laughed
Kalganov.

"He always squeezes like that, always," Grushenka put in gayly, with a
timid smile, seeming suddenly convinced from Mitya's face that he was not
going to make a scene. She was watching him with intense curiosity and
still some uneasiness. She was impressed by something about him, and
indeed the last thing she expected of him was that he would come in and
speak like this at such a moment.

"Good evening," Maximov ventured blandly on the left. Mitya rushed up to
him, too.

"Good evening. You're here, too! How glad I am to find you here, too!
Gentlemen, gentlemen, I--" (He addressed the Polish gentleman with the pipe
again, evidently taking him for the most important person present.) "I
flew here.... I wanted to spend my last day, my last hour in this room, in
this very room ... where I, too, adored ... my queen.... Forgive me,
_panie_," he cried wildly, "I flew here and vowed-- Oh, don't be afraid,
it's my last night! Let's drink to our good understanding. They'll bring
the wine at once.... I brought this with me." (Something made him pull out
his bundle of notes.) "Allow me, _panie_! I want to have music, singing, a
revel, as we had before. But the worm, the unnecessary worm, will crawl
away, and there'll be no more of him. I will commemorate my day of joy on
my last night."

He was almost choking. There was so much, so much he wanted to say, but
strange exclamations were all that came from his lips. The Pole gazed
fixedly at him, at the bundle of notes in his hand; looked at Grushenka,
and was in evident perplexity.

"If my suverin lady is permitting--" he was beginning.

"What does 'suverin' mean? 'Sovereign,' I suppose?" interrupted Grushenka.
"I can't help laughing at you, the way you talk. Sit down, Mitya, what are
you talking about? Don't frighten us, please. You won't frighten us, will
you? If you won't, I am glad to see you ..."

"Me, me frighten you?" cried Mitya, flinging up his hands. "Oh,