between two. I'm expressing it awkwardly, perhaps, but I'm not
a literary man. You see, I'm on the one side, and that monster on the
other. So you must choose. It's either I or the monster. It all lies in
your hands--the fate of three lives, and the happiness of two.... Excuse
me, I'm making a mess of it, but you understand ... I see from your
venerable eyes that you understand ... and if you don't understand, I'm
done for ... so you see!"

Mitya broke off his clumsy speech with that, "so you see!" and jumping up
from his seat, awaited the answer to his foolish proposal. At the last
phrase he had suddenly become hopelessly aware that it had all fallen
flat, above all, that he had been talking utter nonsense.

"How strange it is! On the way here it seemed all right, and now it's
nothing but nonsense." The idea suddenly dawned on his despairing mind.
All the while he had been talking, the old man sat motionless, watching
him with an icy expression in his eyes. After keeping him for a moment in
suspense, Kuzma Kuzmitch pronounced at last in the most positive and
chilling tone:

"Excuse me, we don't undertake such business."

Mitya suddenly felt his legs growing weak under him.

"What am I to do now, Kuzma Kuzmitch?" he muttered, with a pale smile. "I
suppose it's all up with me--what do you think?"

"Excuse me...."

Mitya remained standing, staring motionless. He suddenly noticed a
movement in the old man's face. He started.

"You see, sir, business of that sort's not in our line," said the old man
slowly. "There's the court, and the lawyers--it's a perfect misery. But if
you like, there is a man here you might apply to."

"Good heavens! Who is it? You're my salvation, Kuzma Kuzmitch," faltered
Mitya.

"He doesn't live here, and he's not here just now. He is a peasant, he
does business in timber. His name is Lyagavy. He's been haggling with
Fyodor Pavlovitch for the last year, over your copse at Tchermashnya. They
can't agree on the price, maybe you've heard? Now he's come back again and
is staying with the priest at Ilyinskoe, about twelve versts from the
Volovya station. He wrote to me, too, about the business of the copse,
asking my advice. Fyodor Pavlovitch means to go and see him himself. So if
you were to be beforehand with Fyodor Pavlovitch and to make Lyagavy the
offer you've made me, he might possibly--"

"A brilliant idea!" Mitya interrupted ecstatically. "He's the very man, it
would just suit him.