"He will probably be buried." "And what will become of the children?" "We can never tell what will become of children." "Has your nephew ever offended you in any way?" "I know not how he could offend me." "Then what can you do better with your money than now--" "If I ever need a guardian, I will ask to have you appointed, Mr. Pilgrim." "I see I am not clever enough for you." "You do me too much honor," said Petrovitsch, putting one foot over the other and playing with the lappet of his slipper. "I have done my duty," said Pilgrim again. "And cheaply, too, at the expense of a couple of fair words. A bushel of them would not cost much. I would buy at that rate." "This is my first and last request to you." "And this is my first and last refusal to you." "Good morning, Mr. Lenz!" "The same to you, Mr. Pilgrim." At the door Pilgrim turned, his face crimson and his eyes flashing. "Mr. Lenz, do you know what you are doing?" "I generally know pretty well what I am doing." "You are absolutely turning me out of your house." "Indeed!" said Petrovitsch with an ugly smile; but his eyes fell before the look of mingled pain and defiance in Pilgrim's face. "Mr. Lenz," continued the young man, "from you I bear everything. There lives not a man within sight of a hedge or a tree that can yield a stick, who can boast of having insulted Pilgrim with impunity. You can: and do you know the reason? Because I am willing to bear insults in my friend's cause. Unhappily it is all I can do for him. No angry word shall you hear from me that you can use as a pretext for not helping my friend. For his sake I gladly suffer insults. Tell all the world, if you will, that you have turned me out of your house." "It would not be much to boast of." Pilgrim's breath came short and quick; his lips grew white, and without another word he left the room. Petrovitsch sent after him such a look of triumph as a satisfied fox might send after the wounded and fugitive hare whose blood he had sucked, but whose life the poor creature might save as he could. With great satisfaction he paced about his room, stroking himself down with his hands. He seemed actually so puffed up with satisfaction that he had to let out the tasseled cord of his dressing-gown. Now Petrovitsch is himself again, his every motion seemed to say; last night you behaved like an old fool and forfeited all right to revile the dish-clouts about you.