Page 617 - the-idiot

‘What brutes they all are!’ he whispered to the prince.
Whenever he addressed him he lowered his voice.
‘Let them alone, you’re too weak now—‘
Yes, directly; I’ll go away directly. I’ll—‘
Suddenly he embraced Muishkin.
‘Perhaps you think I am mad, eh?’ he asked him, laugh-
ing very strangely.
‘No, but you—‘
‘Directly, directly! Stand still a moment, I wish to look in
your eyes; don’t speak—stand so—let me look at you! I am
bidding farewell to mankind.’
He stood so for ten seconds, gazing at the prince, mo-
tionless, deadly pale, his temples wet with perspiration; he
held the prince’s hand in a strange grip, as though afraid to
let him go.
‘Hippolyte, Hippolyte, what is the matter with you?’ cried
Muishkin.
‘Directly! There, that’s enough. I’ll lie down directly. I
must drink to the sun’s health. I wish to—I insist upon it!
Let go!’
He seized a glass from the table, broke away from the
prince, and in a moment had reached the terrace steps.
The prince made after him, but it so happened that at
this moment Evgenie Pavlovitch stretched out his hand to
say good-night. The next instant there was a general outcry,
and then followed a few moments of indescribable excite-
ment.
Reaching the steps, Hippolyte had paused, holding the
glass in his left hand while he put his right hand into his

1 The Idiot