t is not true. I am not lying," cried Dounia, losing her composure.
"I would not marry him if I were not convinced that he esteems me
and thinks highly of me. I would not marry him if I were not firmly
convinced that I can respect him. Fortunately, I can have convincing
proof of it this very day... and such a marriage is not a vileness, as
you say! And even if you were right, if I really had determined on a
vile action, is it not merciless on your part to speak to me like that?
Why do you demand of me a heroism that perhaps you have not either? It
is despotism; it is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is only myself.... I
am not committing a murder. Why do you look at me like that? Why are you
so pale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter?"

"Good heavens! You have made him faint," cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"No, no, nonsense! It's nothing. A little giddiness--not fainting. You
have fainting on the brain. H'm, yes, what was I saying? Oh, yes. In
what way will you get convincing proof to-day that you can respect him,
and that he... esteems you, as you said. I think you said to-day?"

"Mother, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch's letter," said Dounia.

With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave him the letter. He
took it with great interest, but, before opening it, he suddenly looked
with a sort of wonder at Dounia.

"It is strange," he said, slowly, as though struck by a new idea. "What
am I making such a fuss for? What is it all about? Marry whom you like!"

He said this as though to himself, but said it aloud, and looked for
some time at his sister, as though puzzled. He opened the letter at
last, still with the same look of strange wonder on his face. Then,
slowly and attentively, he began reading, and read it through twice.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna showed marked anxiety, and all indeed expected
something particular.

"What surprises me," he began, after a short pause, handing the letter
to his mother, but not addressing anyone in particular, "is that he is a
business man, a lawyer, and his conversation is pretentious indeed, and
yet he writes such an uneducated letter."

They all started. They had expected something quite different.

"But they all write like that, you know," Razumihin observed, abruptly.

"Have you read it?"

"Yes."

"We showed him, Rodya. We... consulted him just now," Pulcheria
Alexandrovna began, embarrassed.

"That's just the jargon of the courts," Razumihin put in. "Legal
documents are