entral committee and 'the innumerable branches.' You once
blamed me for it yourself, but where's the deception? You and I are the
central committee and there will be as many branches as we like."

"And always the same sort of rabble!"

"Raw material. Even they will be of use."

"And you are still reckoning on me?"

"You are the chief, you are the head; I shall only be a subordinate,
your secretary. We shall take to our barque, you know; the oars are of
maple, the sails are of silk, at the helm sits a fair maiden, Lizaveta
Nikolaevna... hang it, how does it go in the ballad?"

"He is stuck," laughed Stavrogin. "No, I'd better give you my version.
There you reckon on your fingers the forces that make up the circles.
All that business of titles and sentimentalism is a very good cement,
but there is something better; persuade four members of the circle to
do for a fifth on the pretence that he is a traitor, and you'll tie
them all together with the blood they've shed as though it were a knot.
They'll be your slaves, they won't dare to rebel or call you to account.
Ha ha ha!"

"But you... you shall pay for those words," Pyotr Stepanovitch thought
to himself, "and this very evening, in fact. You go too far."

This or something like this must have been Pyotr Stepanovitch's
reflection. They were approaching Virginsky's house.

"You've represented me, no doubt, as a member from abroad, an inspector
in connection with the _Internationale?_" Stavrogin asked suddenly.

"No, not an inspector; you won't be an inspector; but you are one of
the original members from abroad, who knows the most important
secrets--that's your role. You are going to speak, of course?"

"What's put that idea into your head?"

"Now you are bound to speak."

Stavrogin positively stood still in the middle of the street in
surprise, not far from a street lamp. Pyotr Stepanovitch faced his
scrutiny calmly and defiantly. Stavrogin cursed and went on.

"And are you going to speak?" he suddenly asked Pyotr Stepanovitch.

"No, I am going to listen to you."

"Damn you, you really are giving me an idea!"

"What idea?" Pyotr Stepanovitch asked quickly.

"Perhaps I will speak there, but afterwards I will give you a
hiding--and a sound one too, you know."

"By the way, I told Karmazinov this morning that you said he ought to be
thrashed, and not simply as a form but to hurt, as they flog peasants."

"But I never said such a thing; ha ha!"

"No mat