eg forgiveness: 'Forgive me, good people, a silly
wench.' I'm a beast, that's what I am. But I want to pray. I gave a little
onion. Wicked as I've been, I want to pray. Mitya, let them dance, don't
stop them. Every one in the world is good. Every one--even the worst of
them. The world's a nice place. Though we're bad the world's all right.
We're good and bad, good and bad.... Come, tell me, I've something to ask
you: come here every one, and I'll ask you: Why am I so good? You know I
am good. I'm very good.... Come, why am I so good?"

So Grushenka babbled on, getting more and more drunk. At last she
announced that she was going to dance, too. She got up from her chair,
staggering. "Mitya, don't give me any more wine--if I ask you, don't give
it to me. Wine doesn't give peace. Everything's going round, the stove,
and everything. I want to dance. Let every one see how I dance ... let
them see how beautifully I dance...."

She really meant it. She pulled a white cambric handkerchief out of her
pocket, and took it by one corner in her right hand, to wave it in the
dance. Mitya ran to and fro, the girls were quiet, and got ready to break
into a dancing song at the first signal. Maximov, hearing that Grushenka
wanted to dance, squealed with delight, and ran skipping about in front of
her, humming:

With legs so slim and sides so trim
And its little tail curled tight.

But Grushenka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away.

"Sh-h! Mitya, why don't they come? Let every one come ... to look on. Call
them in, too, that were locked in.... Why did you lock them in? Tell them
I'm going to dance. Let them look on, too...."

Mitya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door, and began knocking
to the Poles with his fist.

"Hi, you ... Podvysotskys! Come, she's going to dance. She calls you."

"_Lajdak!_" one of the Poles shouted in reply.

"You're a _lajdak_ yourself! You're a little scoundrel, that's what you
are."

"Leave off laughing at Poland," said Kalganov sententiously. He too was
drunk.

"Be quiet, boy! If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn't mean that I called
all Poland so. One _lajdak_ doesn't make a Poland. Be quiet, my pretty
boy, eat a sweetmeat."

"Ach, what fellows! As though they were not men. Why won't they make
friends?" said Grushenka, and went forward to dance. The chorus broke into
"Ah, my porch, my new porch!" Grushenka flung back her head, half opened
her lips, smiled, wa