my heart had misgivings all these five years, of all the intrigues. And
I've been sitting here wondering what blind owl was making up to me? No,
my dear, you're a poor actor, worse than Lebyadkin even. Give my humble
greetings to the countess and tell her to send some one better than you.
Has she hired you, tell me? Have they given you a place in her kitchen
out of charity? I see through your deception. I understand you all,
every one of you."

He seized her firmly above the elbow; she laughed in his face.

"You're like him, very like, perhaps you're a relation--you're a sly
lot! Only mine is a bright falcon and a prince, and you're an owl, and
a shopman! Mine will bow down to God if it pleases him, and won't if it
doesn't. And Shatushka (he's my dear, my darling!) slapped you on the
cheeks, my Lebyadkin told me. And what were you afraid of then, when you
came in? Who had frightened you then? When I saw your mean face after
I'd fallen down and you picked me up--it was like a worm crawling into
my heart. It's not he, I thought, not _he!_ My falcon would never have
been ashamed of me before a fashionable young lady. Oh heavens! That
alone kept me happy for those five years that my falcon was living
somewhere beyond the mountains, soaring, gazing at the sun.... Tell
me, you impostor, have you got much by it? Did you need a big bribe to
consent? I wouldn't have given you a farthing. Ha ha ha! Ha ha!..."

"Ugh, idiot!" snarled Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, still holding her tight
by the arm.

"Go away, impostor!" she shouted peremptorily. "I'm the wife of my
prince; I'm not afraid of your knife!"

"Knife!"

"Yes, knife, you've a knife in your pocket. You thought I was asleep but
I saw it. When you came in just now you took out your knife!"

"What are you saying, unhappy creature? What dreams you have!" he
exclaimed, pushing her away from him with all his might, so that her
head and shoulders fell painfully against the sofa. He was rushing away;
but she at once flew to overtake him, limping and hopping, and though
Lebyadkin, panic-stricken, held her back with all his might, she
succeeded in shouting after him into the darkness, shrieking and
laughing:

"A curse on you, Grishka Otrepyev!"

IV

"A knife, a knife," he repeated with uncontrollable anger, striding
along through the mud and puddles, without picking his way. It is true
that at moments he had a terrible desire to laugh aloud frantically; but
for some reason