Page 735 - the-brothers-karamazov

turned from the balcony into the passage, he came upon
the landlord, Trifon Borissovitch. He thought he looked
gloomy and worried, and fancied he had come to find him.
‘What is it, Trifon Borissovitch? Are you looking for
me?’
‘No, sir,’ The landlord seemed disconcerted. ‘Why should
I be looking for you? Where have you been?’
‘Why do you look so glum? You’re not angry, are you?
Wait a bit, you shall soon get to bed.... What’s the time?’
‘It’ll be three o’clock. Past three, it must be.’
‘We’ll leave off soon. We’ll leave off.’
‘Don’t mention it; it doesn’t matter. Keep it up as long as
you like..’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Mitya wondered for an
instant, and he ran back to the room where the girls were
dancing. But she was not there. She was not in the blue
room either; there was no one but Kalgonov asleep on the
sofa. Mitya peeped behind the curtain — she was there. She
was sitting in the corner, on a trunk. Bent forward, with her
head and arms on the bed close by, she was crying bitterly,
doing her utmost to stifle her sobs that she might not be
heard. Seeing Mitya, she beckoned him to her, and when he
ran to her, she grasped his hand tightly.
‘Mitya, Mitya, I loved him, you know. How I have loved
him these five years, all that time! Did I love him or only
my own anger? No, him, him! It’s a lie that it was my anger
I loved and not him. Mitya, I was only seventeen then; he
was so kind to me, so merry; he used to sing to me.... Or so
it seemed to a silly girl like me.... And now, O Lord, it’s not

The Brothers Karamazov