“N--no.... How could she know? Pelagueia won’t tell for anything. The day before yesterday Father stood us pears. Sweet, like jam. I had two.” “H’m ... well, now ... tell me, doesn’t your father speak about me?” “About you? How shall I put it?” Alyosha gave a searching glance to Byelyaev’s face and shrugged his shoulders. “He doesn’t say anything in particular.” “What does he say, for instance?” “You won’t be offended?” “What next? Why, does he abuse me?” “He doesn’t abuse you, but you know ... he is cross with you. He says that it’s through you that Mother’s unhappy and that you ... ruined Mother. But he is so queer! I explain to him that you are good and never shout at Mother, but he only shakes his head.” “Does he say those very words: that I ruined her?” “Yes. Don’t be offended, Nicolai Ilyich!” Byelyaev got up, stood still a moment, and then began to walk about the drawing-room. “This is strange, and ... funny,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulders and smiling ironically. “He is to blame all round, and now I’ve ruined her, eh? What an innocent lamb! Did he say those very words to you: that I ruined your mother?” “Yes, but ... you said that you wouldn’t get offended.” “I’m not offended, and ... and it’s none of your business! No, it ... it’s quite funny though. I fell, into the trap, yet I’m to be blamed as well.” The bell rang. The boy dashed from his place and ran out. In a minute a lady entered the room with a little girl. It was Olga Ivanovna, Alyosha’s mother. After her, hopping, humming noisily, and waving his hands, followed Alyosha. “Of course, who is there to accuse except me?” he murmured, sniffing. “He’s right, he’s the injured husband.” “What’s the matter?” asked Olga Ivanovna. “What’s the matter! Listen to the kind of sermon your dear husband preaches. It appears I’m a scoundrel and a murderer, I’ve ruined you and the children. All of you are unhappy, and only I am awfully happy! Awfully, awfully happy!” “I don’t understand, Nicolai! What is it?” “Just listen to this young gentleman,” Byelyaev said, pointing to Alyosha. Alyosha blushed, then became pale suddenly and his whole face was twisted in fright. “Nicolai Ilyich,” he whispered loudly. “Shh!” Olga Ivanovna glanced in surprise at Alyosha, at Byelyaev, and then again at Alyosha. “Ask him, if you please,” went on Byelyaev. “That stupid fool Pelagueia of yours, takes them to sweet-shops and arranges meetings with their dear father there. But that’s not the point. The point is that the dear father is a martyr, and I’m a murderer, I’m a scoundrel, who broke the lives of both of you....” “Nicolai Ilyich!” moaned Alyosha. “You gave your word of honour!” “Ah, let me alone!” Byelyaev waved his hand. “This is something more important than any words of honour. The hypocrisy revolts me, the lie!” “I don’t understand,” muttered Olga Ivanovna, and tears began to glimmer in her eyes. “Tell me, Lyolka,”--she turned to her son, “Do you see your father?”