“How much is in the bank? Enough to cover?” Mitya was getting excited.
“That depends, panie, maybe a hundred, maybe two, as much as you want to stake.”
“A million!” Mitya guffawed.
“The pan captain has perhaps heard of Pan Podvysotsky?”[258]
“What Podvysotsky?”
“There is a gaming house in Warsaw, and anyone who comes can stake against the bank. Podvysotsky comes, sees a thousand zloty, and stakes the bank. The banker says, ‘Panie Podvysotsky, are you putting up the money, or your honor?’ ‘My honor, panie,’ says Podvysotsky. ‘So much the better, panie.’ The banker deals, Podvysotsky wins and reaches for the thousand zloty. ‘Here, panie,’ says the banker, and he pulls out a drawer and gives him a million, ‘take it, panie, you have won it!’ There was a million in the bank. ‘I did not know that,’ says Podvysotsky. ‘Panie Podvysotsky,’ says the banker, ‘you pledged your honor, and we pledged ours.’ Podvysotsky took the million.”
“That’s not true,” said Kalganov.
“Panie Kalganov, one does not say such things in decent company.”
“As if a Polish gambler would give away a million!” Mitya exclaimed, but immediately checked himself. “Forgive me, panie, my fault, my fault again, of course he would give it away, on his gonor,[259] on his Polish honor!See how well I speak Polish, ha, ha! Here, ten roubles on the jack.”
“And I put one little rouble on the queen, the queen of hearts, the pretty thing, the little panienochka,[260] hee, hee!” Maximov giggled, producing his queen; and moving right up to the table, as though trying to conceal it from everyone, he hurriedly crossed himself under the table. Mitya won. The rouble also won.
“Twenty-five!” cried Mitya.
“Another rouble, a little stake, a simple little stake,” Maximov muttered blissfully, terribly happy to have won a rouble.
“Lost!” cried Mitya. “Double on the seven!”
The double, too, was lost.
“Stop!” Kalganov said suddenly.
“Double! Double!” Mitya kept doubling his stakes, and every time he doubled a card, it lost. But the roubles kept winning.
“Double!” Mitya roared furiously.
“You’ve lost two hundred, panie. Will you stake another two hundred?” the pan on the sofa inquired.
“What, two hundred already! Here’s another two hundred! The whole two hundred on the double!” and pulling the money from his pocket, Mitya threw down two hundred roubles on the queen, but Kalganov suddenly covered it with his hand.
“Enough!” he cried in his ringing voice.
“What do you mean?” Mitya stared at him.
“Enough, I won’t let you! You won’t play anymore!”
“Why?”
“Because. Just spit and come away, that’s why. I won’t let you play any more!”
Mitya looked at him in amazement.
“Quit, Mitya. Maybe he’s right; you’ve lost a lot as it is,” Grushenka, too, said, with a strange note in her voice. Both pans suddenly rose to their feet, looking terribly offended.
“Zartujesz (Are you joking), panie?” the little pan said, looking sternly at Kalganov.
“Yak sen powazasz to robic, panie (How dare you do that)!” Pan Vrublevsky also roared at Kalganov.
“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare shout!” Grushenka shouted. “You turkey cocks!”
Mitya looked at each of them in turn; then something in Grushenka’s face suddenly struck him, and at the same moment something quite new flashed through his mind—a strange new thought!
“Pani Agrippina!” the little pan, all flushed with defiance, began speaking, when Mitya suddenly came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder.
“A word with you, Excellency.”
“Czego chcesz, panie (What do you want) ?”
“Let’s step into the other room, over there; I have some nice news for you, the best news, you’ll be pleased to hear it.”
The little pan was surprised and looked warily at Mitya. However, he agreed at once, but on the firm condition that Pan Vrublevsky also come with them.
“The bodyguard? Let him come, we need him, too! He must come, in fact!” Mitya exclaimed. “March, panowie!”
“Where are you going?” Grushenka asked anxiously.
“We’ll be back in a moment,” Mitya replied. A certain boldness, a certain unexpected cheerfulness flashed in his face; it was quite a different look from the one he had when he entered the same room an hour earlier. He led the panowie into the room at the right, not the big one where the chorus of girls was gathering and the table was being laid, but a bedroom, where there were trunks and boxes and two big beds with a pile of cotton pillows on each. There was a candle burning on a little wooden table in the very corner. The pan and Mitya sat down at this table, facing each other, while the enormous Pan Vrublevsky stood to one side of them, his hands behind his back. The pans looked stern, but were obviously curious.
“Czym moge sluzyc panu (What can I do for the pan)?” the little pan prattled.
“Here’s what, panie, I won’t waste words: take this money,” he pulled out his bank notes, “if you want three thousand, take it and go wherever you like. “
The pan acquired a keen look, he was all eyes, he fixed his gaze on Mitya’s face.
“Trzy tysiace, panie (Three thousand, panie) ?” he exchanged glances with Vrublevsky.
“Trzy, panowie, trzy! Listen, panie, I see you’re a reasonable man. Take three thousand and go to the devil, and don’t forget Vrublevsky—do you hear? But now, this minute, and forever, do you understand, panie, you’ll walk out this door forever. What have you got in there—an overcoat, a fur coat? I’ll bring it out to you. The troika will be harnessed for you this very moment and—good-bye, panie! Eh?”
Mitya waited confidently for an answer. He had no doubts. Something extremely resolute flashed in the pan’s face. “And the roubles, panie?”
“We’ll do it this way, panie: I’ll give you five hundred roubles right now, for the coachman and as a first installment, and two thousand five hundred will come tomorrow in town—I swear on my honor, I’ll dig it up somewhere!” Mitya cried.
The Poles exchanged glances again. The pan’s expression took a turn for the worse.
“Seven hundred, seven hundred, not five, right now, this minute, in your hands!” Mitya upped his offer, sensing that things were not going well. “What’s the matter, pan? You don’t believe me? I’m not going to give you all three thousand at once. I’d give it to you, and you’d go back to her tomorrow ... And I don’t have the whole three thousand with me, I have it at home, in town,” Mitya babbled weakly, losing heart with each word, “by God, I have it, hidden ...”
In an instant a sense of extraordinary dignity shone on the little pan’s face.
“Czy nie potrzebujesz jeszcze czego (Is there anything else you’d like) ?” he asked ironically. “Pfui! Ah, pfui (Shame on you)!” And he spat. Pan Vrublevsky also spat.
“You spit, panie, because,” Mitya spoke as one in despair, realizing that all was over, “because you hope to get more from Grushenka. You’re a couple of capons, that’s what!”
“Jestem do zywego dotkniety (That is a mortal insult)!” the little pan suddenly turned red as a lobster, and briskly, in terrible indignation, as though unwilling to listen any longer, walked out of the room. Vrublevsky went swinging after him, and Mitya, confused and at a loss, followed them out. He was afraid of Grushenka, he anticipated that the pan would now make an uproar. And that, indeed, is what happened. The pan walked into the room and stood theatrically before Grushenka.