ermination, and yet
there was a vague look in them, too. Even when he was excited and talking
irritably, his eyes somehow did not follow his mood, but betrayed
something else, sometimes quite incongruous with what was passing. "It's
hard to tell what he's thinking," those who talked to him sometimes
declared. People who saw something pensive and sullen in his eyes were
startled by his sudden laugh, which bore witness to mirthful and
light-hearted thoughts at the very time when his eyes were so gloomy. A
certain strained look in his face was easy to understand at this moment.
Every one knew, or had heard of, the extremely restless and dissipated
life which he had been leading of late, as well as of the violent anger to
which he had been roused in his quarrels with his father. There were
several stories current in the town about it. It is true that he was
irascible by nature, "of an unstable and unbalanced mind," as our justice
of the peace, Katchalnikov, happily described him.

He was stylishly and irreproachably dressed in a carefully buttoned
frock-coat. He wore black gloves and carried a top-hat. Having only lately
left the army, he still had mustaches and no beard. His dark brown hair
was cropped short, and combed forward on his temples. He had the long,
determined stride of a military man. He stood still for a moment on the
threshold, and glancing at the whole party went straight up to the elder,
guessing him to be their host. He made him a low bow, and asked his
blessing. Father Zossima, rising in his chair, blessed him. Dmitri kissed
his hand respectfully, and with intense feeling, almost anger, he said:

"Be so generous as to forgive me for having kept you waiting so long, but
Smerdyakov, the valet sent me by my father, in reply to my inquiries, told
me twice over that the appointment was for one. Now I suddenly learn--"

"Don't disturb yourself," interposed the elder. "No matter. You are a
little late. It's of no consequence...."

"I'm extremely obliged to you, and expected no less from your goodness."

Saying this, Dmitri bowed once more. Then, turning suddenly towards his
father, made him, too, a similarly low and respectful bow. He had
evidently considered it beforehand, and made this bow in all seriousness,
thinking it his duty to show his respect and good intentions.

Although Fyodor Pavlovitch was taken unawares, he was equal to the
occasion. In response to Dmitri's bow he jumped up from his chair and