"I said, _on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison,_ and as I
thoroughly..."

"I'm sure that's not your saying. You must have taken it from
somewhere."

"It was Pascal said that."

"Just as I thought...it's not your own. Why don't you ever say anything
like that yourself, so shortly and to the point, instead of dragging
things out to such a length? That's much better than what you said just
now about administrative ardour..."

_"Ma foi, chere..."_why? In the first place probably because I'm not
a Pascal after all, _et puis_...secondly, we Russians never can say
anything in our own language....We never have said anything hitherto,
at any rate...."

"H'm! That's not true, perhaps. Anyway, you'd better make a note of such
phrases, and remember them, you know, in case you have to talk....
Ach, Stephan Trofimovitch. I have come to talk to you seriously, quite
seriously."

_"Chere, chere amie!"_

"Now that all these Von Lembkes and Karmazinovs.... Oh, my goodness, how
you have deteriorated!... Oh, my goodness, how you do torment me!...
I should have liked these people to feel a respect for you, for they're
not worth your little finger--but the way you behave!... What will they
see? What shall I have to show them? Instead of nobly standing as an
example, keeping up the tradition of the past, you surround yourself
with a wretched rabble, you have picked up impossible habits, you've
grown feeble, you can't do without wine and cards, you read nothing
but Paul de Kock, and write nothing, while all of them write; all your
time's wasted in gossip. How can you bring yourself to be friends with a
wretched creature like your inseparable Liputin?

"Why is he _mine_ and _inseparable_?" Stepan Trofimovitch protested
timidly.

"Where is he now?" Varvara Petrovna went on, sharply and sternly.

"He... he has an infinite respect for you, and he's gone to S----k, to
receive an inheritance left him by his mother."

"He seems to do nothing but get money. And how's Shatov? Is he just the
same?"

_"Irascible, mais bon."_

"I can't endure your Shatov. He's spiteful and he thinks too much of
himself."

"How is Darya Pavlovna?"

"You mean Dasha? What made you think of her?" Varvara Petrovna looked
at him inquisitively. "She's quite well. I left her with the Drozdovs. I
heard something about your son in Switzerland. Nothing good."

_"Oh, c'est un histoire bien bete! Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour
vous raconter.