more accurate a little
reticule, rather like an old-fashioned lady's reticule, though I really
don't know what it was. I only know that I flew to pick it up.

I am convinced that I did not really pick it up, but my first motion
was unmistakable. I could not conceal it, and, like a fool, I turned
crimson. The cunning fellow at once got all that could be got out of the
circumstance.

"Don't trouble, I'll pick it up," he pronounced charmingly; that is,
when he was quite sure that I was not going to pick up the reticule, he
picked it up as though forestalling me, nodded once more, and went his
way, leaving me to look like a fool. It was as good as though I had
picked it up myself. For five minutes I considered myself utterly
disgraced for ever, but as I reached Stepan Trofimovitch's house I
suddenly burst out laughing; the meeting struck me as so amusing that I
immediately resolved to entertain Stepan Trofimovitch with an account of
it, and even to act the whole scene to him.

III

But this time to my surprise I found an extraordinary change in him. He
pounced on me with a sort of avidity, it is true, as soon as I went in,
and began listening to me, but with such a distracted air that at first
he evidently did not take in my words. But as soon as I pronounced the
name of Karmazinov he suddenly flew into a frenzy.

"Don't speak of him! Don't pronounce that name!" he exclaimed, almost in
a fury. "Here, look, read it! Read it!"

He opened the drawer and threw on the table three small sheets of paper,
covered with a hurried pencil scrawl, all from Varvara Petrovna. The
first letter was dated the day before yesterday, the second had come
yesterday, and the last that day, an hour before. Their contents were
quite trivial, and all referred to Karmazinov and betrayed the vain
and fussy uneasiness of Varvara Petrovna and her apprehension that
Karmazinov might forget to pay her a visit. Here is the first one dating
from two days before. (Probably there had been one also three days
before, and possibly another four days before as well.)

"If he deigns to visit you to-day, not a word about me, I beg. Not the
faintest hint. Don't speak of me, don't mention me.--V. S."

The letter of the day before:

"If he decides to pay you a visit this morning, I think the most
dignified thing would be not to receive him. That's what I think about
it; I don't know what you think.--V. S."

To-day's, the last:

"I feel sure that you're i