Gania. "You--you are a cur!" He looked at Gania with an
expression of malice.

"What on earth is the matter with the boy? What phenomenal
feeble-mindedness!" exclaimed Ferdishenko.

"Oh, he's simply a fool," said Gania.

Hippolyte braced himself up a little.

"I understand, gentlemen," he began, trembling as before, and stumbling
over every word, "that I have deserved your resentment, and--and
am sorry that I should have troubled you with this raving nonsense"
(pointing to his article), "or rather, I am sorry that I have not
troubled you enough." He smiled feebly. "Have I troubled you, Evgenie
Pavlovitch?" He suddenly turned on Evgenie with this question. "Tell me
now, have I troubled you or not?"

"Well, it was a little drawn out, perhaps; but--"

"Come, speak out! Don't lie, for once in your life--speak out!"
continued Hippolyte, quivering with agitation.

"Oh, my good sir, I assure you it's entirely the same to me. Please
leave me in peace," said Evgenie, angrily, turning his back on him.

"Good-night, prince," said Ptitsin, approaching his host.

"What are you thinking of? Don't go, he'll blow his brains out in a
minute!" cried Vera Lebedeff, rushing up to Hippolyte and catching hold
of his hands in a torment of alarm. "What are you thinking of? He said
he would blow his brains out at sunrise."

"Oh, he won't shoot himself!" cried several voices, sarcastically.

"Gentlemen, you'd better look out," cried Colia, also seizing Hippolyte
by the hand. "Just look at him! Prince, what are you thinking of?" Vera
and Colia, and Keller, and Burdovsky were all crowding round Hippolyte
now and holding him down.

"He has the right--the right--"-murmured Burdovsky. "Excuse me, prince,
but what are your arrangements?" asked Lebedeff, tipsy and exasperated,
going up to Muishkin.

"What do you mean by 'arrangements'?"

"No, no, excuse me! I'm master of this house, though I do not wish to
lack respect towards you. You are master of the house too, in a way; but
I can't allow this sort of thing--"

"He won't shoot himself; the boy is only playing the fool," said General
Ivolgin, suddenly and unexpectedly, with indignation.

"I know he won't, I know he won't, general; but I--I'm master here!"

"Listen, Mr. Terentieff," said Ptitsin, who had bidden the prince
good-night, and was now holding out his hand to Hippolyte; "I think you
remark in that manuscript of yours, that you bequeath your skeleton to
the Academy. Are