Page 253 - the-idiot

The wretched little man wept, and groaned, and crawled to-
wards the fire.
‘Away, out of the way!’ cried Nastasia. ‘Make room, all of
you! Gania, what are you standing there for? Don’t stand on
ceremony. Put in your hand! There’s your whole happiness
smouldering away, look! Quick!’
But Gania had borne too much that day, and especially
this evening, and he was not prepared for this last, quite
unexpected trial.
The crowd parted on each side of him and he was left
face to face with Nastasia Philipovna, three paces from her.
She stood by the fire and waited, with her intent gaze fixed
upon him.
Gania stood before her, in his evening clothes, holding
his white gloves and hat in his hand, speechless and mo-
tionless, with arms folded and eyes fixed on the fire.
A silly, meaningless smile played on his white, death-like
lips. He could not take his eyes off the smouldering packet;
but it appeared that something new had come to birth in his
soul—as though he were vowing to himself that he would
bear this trial. He did not move from his place. In a few
seconds it became evident to all that he did not intend to
rescue the money.
‘Hey! look at it, it’ll burn in another minute or two!’ cried
Nastasia Philipovna. ‘You’ll hang yourself afterwards, you
know, if it does! I’m not joking.’
The fire, choked between a couple of smouldering pieces
of wood, had died down for the first few moments after the
packet was thrown upon it. But a little tongue of fire now

The Idiot