he thing is perfectly clear," he muttered
to himself, with a malignant smile anticipating the triumph of his
decision. "No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceive me! and then they
apologise for not asking my advice and for taking the decision without
me! I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now and can't be broken
off; but we will see whether it can or not! A magnificent excuse:
'Pyotr Petrovitch is such a busy man that even his wedding has to be in
post-haste, almost by express.' No, Dounia, I see it all and I know what
you want to say to me; and I know too what you were thinking about, when
you walked up and down all night, and what your prayers were like before
the Holy Mother of Kazan who stands in mother's bedroom. Bitter is
the ascent to Golgotha.... Hm... so it is finally settled; you have
determined to marry a sensible business man, Avdotya Romanovna, one
who has a fortune (has _already_ made his fortune, that is so much
more solid and impressive) a man who holds two government posts and who
shares the ideas of our most rising generation, as mother writes, and
who _seems_ to be kind, as Dounia herself observes. That _seems_ beats
everything! And that very Dounia for that very '_seems_' is marrying
him! Splendid! splendid!

"... But I should like to know why mother has written to me about 'our
most rising generation'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with the idea
of prepossessing me in favour of Mr. Luzhin? Oh, the cunning of them!
I should like to know one thing more: how far they were open with one
another that day and night and all this time since? Was it all put into
_words_, or did both understand that they had the same thing at heart
and in their minds, so that there was no need to speak of it aloud, and
better not to speak of it. Most likely it was partly like that, from
mother's letter it's evident: he struck her as rude _a little_, and
mother in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she was
sure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily.' I should think so! Who
would not be angered when it was quite clear without any naive questions
and when it was understood that it was useless to discuss it. And why
does she write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more than
herself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughter
to her son? 'You are our one comfort, you are everything to us.' Oh,
mother!"

His bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he had happened to