satisfaction. But best of all if we forget one another for ever. And
if you all, readers, were suddenly so kind as to fall on your knees and
begin begging me with tears, 'Write, oh, write for us, Karmazinov--for
the sake of Russia, for the sake of posterity, to win laurels,' even
then I would answer you, thanking you, of course, with every courtesy,
'No, we've had enough of one another, dear fellow-countrymen, _merci!_
It's time we took our separate ways!' _Merci, merci, merci!_"

Karmazinov bowed ceremoniously, and, as red as though he had been
cooked, retired behind the scenes.

"Nobody would go down on their knees; a wild idea!"

"What conceit!"

"That's only humour," some one more reasonable suggested.

"Spare me your humour."

"I call it impudence, gentlemen!"

"Well, he's finished now, anyway!"

"Ech, what a dull show!"

But all these ignorant exclamations in the back rows (though they were
confined to the back rows) were drowned in applause from the other half
of the audience. They called for Karmazinov. Several ladies with Yulia
Mihailovna and the marshal's wife crowded round the platform. In Yulia
Mihailovna's hands was a gorgeous laurel wreath resting on another
wreath of living roses on a white velvet cushion.

"Laurels!" Karmazinov pronounced with a subtle and rather sarcastic
smile. "I am touched, of course, and accept with real emotion this
wreath prepared beforehand, but still fresh and unwithered, but I assure
you, mesdames, that I have suddenly become so realistic that I feel
laurels would in this age be far more appropriate in the hands of a
skilful cook than in mine...."

"Well, a cook is more useful," cried the divinity student, who had been
at the "meeting" at Virginsky's.

There was some disorder. In many rows people jumped up to get a better
view of the presentation of the laurel wreath.

"I'd give another three roubles for a cook this minute," another voice
assented loudly, too loudly; insistently, in fact.

"So would I."

"And I."

"Is it possible there's no buffet?..."

"Gentlemen, it's simply a swindle...."

It must be admitted, however, that all these unbridled gentlemen still
stood in awe of our higher officials and of the police superintendent,
who was present in the hall. Ten minutes later all had somehow got back
into their places, but there was not the same good order as before.
And it was into this incipient chaos that poor Stepan Trofimovitch was
thrust.

IV