by the tone, by the tone of it. Dictate,
the tone."

"I, Alexey Kirillov," Pyotr Stepanovitch dictated firmly and
peremptorily, bending over Kirillov's shoulder and following every
letter which the latter formed with a hand trembling with excitement,
"I, Kirillov, declare that to-day, the --th October, at about eight
o'clock in the evening, I killed the student Shatov in the park for
turning traitor and giving information of the manifestoes and of Fedka,
who has been lodging with us for ten days in Filipov's house. I am
shooting myself to-day with my revolver, not because I repent and am
afraid of you, but because when I was abroad I made up my mind to put an
end to my life."

"Is that all?" cried Kirillov with surprise and indignation. "Not
another word," cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, waving his hand, attempting to
snatch the document from him.

"Stay." Kirillov put his hand firmly on the paper. "Stay, it's nonsense!
I want to say with whom I killed him. Why Fedka? And what about the
fire? I want it all and I want to be abusive in tone, too, in tone!"

"Enough, Kirillov, I assure you it's enough," cried Pyotr Stepanovitch
almost imploringly, trembling lest he should tear up the paper; "that
they may believe you, you must say it as obscurely as possible, just
like that, simply in hints. You must only give them a peep of the truth,
just enough to tantalise them. They'll tell a story better than ours,
and of course they'll believe themselves more than they would us; and
you know, it's better than anything--better than anything! Let me have
it, it's splendid as it is; give it to me, give it to me!"

And he kept trying to snatch the paper. Kirillov listened open-eyed and
appeared to be trying to reflect, but he seemed beyond understanding
now.

"Damn it all," Pyotr Stepanovitch cried all at once, ill-humouredly, "he
hasn't signed it! Why are you staring like that? Sign!"

"I want to abuse them," muttered Kirillov. He took the pen, however, and
signed. "I want to abuse them."

"Write _'Vive la republique,'_ and that will be enough."

"Bravo!" Kirillov almost bellowed with delight. "_'Vive la republique
democratique sociale et universelle ou la mort!'_ No, no, that's not it.
_'Liberte, egalite, fraternite ou la mort.'_ There, that's better, that's
better." He wrote it gleefully under his signature.

"Enough, enough," repeated Pyotr Stepanovitch.

"Stay, a little more. I'll sign it again in French, you know. 'De
Kiri