He could not fall asleep. He was a prey to his absurd sermonizings, though, as a matter of fact, he was not much perturbed by Petenka's mysterious arrival. He was prepared for no matter what happened. He knew nothing would catch him napping and nothing would make him recede in the slightest from the web of empty, musty aphorisms in which he was entangled. For him there existed neither sorrow nor joy, neither hatred, nor love. To him the entire world was a vast coffin which served him as a pretext for endless prattling. What greater grief could there be for a father than for his son to commit suicide? But even with respect to Volodya's suicide he remained true to himself. It had been a very sad story, which had lasted two years. For two years Volodya had held out, at first showing a pride and determination not to ask his father's aid. Then he weakened, began to implore, to expostulate, to threaten. In reply he always received a ready aphorism, the stone given to the hungry man. It is doubtful whether Yudushka realized that he had handed his son a stone and not bread. At any rate a stone was all he had to give, and so he gave it. When Volodya shot himself he had a requiem service performed, entered the day of his death in the calendar, and promised himself to have memorial services performed on the 23rd of November of every year. Sometimes a dull voice muttered in his ears that the solution of a family quarrel by suicide is rather a questionable method, to say the least; and even then he brought into play a train of aphorisms, such as "God punishes disobedient children," "God is against the proud," and was at peace again. And now! There was no doubt that something sinister had happened to Petenka. But whatever had happened, he, Porfiry Vladimirych, must be above those chance happenings. "You knew how to get in, then know how to get out." "If the cat wants the fish, let her wet her feet." Just so. That is what he would say to his son the next day, no matter what Petenka told him. And suppose Petenka, like Volodya, were also to refuse to take a stone instead of bread? What if he, too----Yudushka drove the thought from him. It was a diabolical suggestion. He tossed about and tried in vain to fall asleep. Whenever sleep seemed about to come, there flashed across his mind maxims such as "I should like to reach the sky but my arms are too short," or "You can't stretch more than the length of your bed," or "Speed is good for nothing but catching fleas." Twaddle surrounded him on all sides, crawled upon him, crept over him, embraced him. Under this load of nonsensicality, with which he hoped to regale his soul tomorrow, he could not fall asleep.