nly to mock at them? The only human being who is
recognized as perfect, when nature showed him to mankind, was given the
mission to say things which have caused the shedding of so much blood
that it would have drowned mankind if it had all been shed at once! Oh!
it is better for me to die! I should tell some dreadful lie too; nature
would so contrive it! I have corrupted nobody. I wanted to live for the
happiness of all men, to find and spread the truth. I used to look out
of my window at the wall of Meyer's house, and say to myself that if I
could speak for a quarter of an hour I would convince the whole world,
and now for once in my life I have come into contact with... you--if
not with the others! And what is the result? Nothing! The sole result
is that you despise me! Therefore I must be a fool, I am useless, it is
time I disappeared! And I shall leave not even a memory! Not a sound,
not a trace, not a single deed! I have not spread a single truth!... Do
not laugh at the fool! Forget him! Forget him forever! I beseech you,
do not be so cruel as to remember! Do you know that if I were not
consumptive, I would kill myself?"

Though he seemed to wish to say much more, he became silent. He fell
back into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, began to sob
like a little child.

"Oh! what on earth are we to do with him?" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.
She hastened to him and pressed his head against her bosom, while he
sobbed convulsively.

"Come, come, come! There, you must not cry, that will do. You are a good
child! God will forgive you, because you knew no better. Come now, be a
man! You know presently you will be ashamed."

Hippolyte raised his head with an effort, saying:

"I have little brothers and sisters, over there, poor avid innocent. She
will corrupt them! You are a saint! You are a child yourself--save them!
Snatch them from that... she is... it is shameful! Oh! help them! God
will repay you a hundredfold. For the love of God, for the love of
Christ!"

"Speak, Ivan Fedorovitch! What are we to do?" cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna, irritably. "Please break your majestic silence! I tell you,
if you cannot come to some decision, I will stay here all night myself.
You have tyrannized over me enough, you autocrat!"

She spoke angrily, and in great excitement, and expected an immediate
reply. But in such a case, no matter how many are present, all prefer
to keep silence: no one will take the initiative