looking at him in astonishment,
finished, he laughed outright.

"Well, and what else?" he asked in a loud voice.

There was a hush in the court; there was a feeling of something strange.
The President showed signs of uneasiness.

"You ... are perhaps still unwell?" he began, looking everywhere for the
usher.

"Don't trouble yourself, your excellency, I am well enough and can tell
you something interesting," Ivan answered with sudden calmness and
respectfulness.

"You have some special communication to make?" the President went on,
still mistrustfully.

Ivan looked down, waited a few seconds and, raising his head, answered,
almost stammering:

"No ... I haven't. I have nothing particular."

They began asking him questions. He answered, as it were, reluctantly,
with extreme brevity, with a sort of disgust which grew more and more
marked, though he answered rationally. To many questions he answered that
he did not know. He knew nothing of his father's money relations with
Dmitri. "I wasn't interested in the subject," he added. Threats to murder
his father he had heard from the prisoner. Of the money in the envelope he
had heard from Smerdyakov.

"The same thing over and over again," he interrupted suddenly, with a look
of weariness. "I have nothing particular to tell the court."

"I see you are unwell and understand your feelings," the President began.

He turned to the prosecutor and the counsel for the defense to invite them
to examine the witness, if necessary, when Ivan suddenly asked in an
exhausted voice:

"Let me go, your excellency, I feel very ill."

And with these words, without waiting for permission, he turned to walk
out of the court. But after taking four steps he stood still, as though he
had reached a decision, smiled slowly, and went back.

"I am like the peasant girl, your excellency ... you know. How does it go?
'I'll stand up if I like, and I won't if I don't.' They were trying to put
on her sarafan to take her to church to be married, and she said, 'I'll
stand up if I like, and I won't if I don't.'... It's in some book about
the peasantry."

"What do you mean by that?" the President asked severely.

"Why, this," Ivan suddenly pulled out a roll of notes. "Here's the money
... the notes that lay in that envelope" (he nodded towards the table on
which lay the material evidence), "for the sake of which our father was
murdered. Where shall I put them? Mr. Superintendent, take them."