s had given
fifteen roubles at a time to beggars. Evidently he had joined the others
as a comrade to give them moral, and if necessary material, support. The
man who had been spoken of as "Pavlicheff's son," although he gave the
name of Antip Burdovsky, was about twenty-two years of age, fair,
thin and rather tall. He was remarkable for the poverty, not to say
uncleanliness, of his personal appearance: the sleeves of his overcoat
were greasy; his dirty waistcoat, buttoned up to his neck, showed not a
trace of linen; a filthy black silk scarf, twisted till it resembled a
cord, was round his neck, and his hands were unwashed. He looked round
with an air of insolent effrontery. His face, covered with pimples,
was neither thoughtful nor even contemptuous; it wore an expression
of complacent satisfaction in demanding his rights and in being an
aggrieved party. His voice trembled, and he spoke so fast, and with such
stammerings, that he might have been taken for a foreigner, though
the purest Russian blood ran in his veins. Lebedeff's nephew, whom
the reader has seen already, accompanied him, and also the youth named
Hippolyte Terentieff. The latter was only seventeen or eighteen. He
had an intelligent face, though it was usually irritated and fretful
in expression. His skeleton-like figure, his ghastly complexion, the
brightness of his eyes, and the red spots of colour on his cheeks,
betrayed the victim of consumption to the most casual glance. He coughed
persistently, and panted for breath; it looked as though he had but
a few weeks more to live. He was nearly dead with fatigue, and fell,
rather than sat, into a chair. The rest bowed as they came in; and being
more or less abashed, put on an air of extreme self-assurance. In short,
their attitude was not that which one would have expected in men who
professed to despise all trivialities, all foolish mundane conventions,
and indeed everything, except their own personal interests.

"Antip Burdovsky," stuttered the son of Pavlicheff.

"Vladimir Doktorenko," said Lebedeff's nephew briskly, and with a
certain pride, as if he boasted of his name.

"Keller," murmured the retired officer.

"Hippolyte Terentieff," cried the last-named, in a shrill voice.

They sat now in a row facing the prince, and frowned, and played with
their caps. All appeared ready to speak, and yet all were silent; the
defiant expression on their faces seemed to say, "No, sir, you don't
take us in!" It c