“I swear, Alyosha,” he cried, with intense and genuine anger at himself; “you may not believe me, but as God is holy, and as Christ is God, I swear that though I smiled at her lofty sentiments just now, I know that I am a million times baser in soul than she, and that these lofty sentiments of hers are as sincere as a heavenly angel’s. That’s the tragedy of it—that I know that for certain. What if any one does show off a bit? Don’t I do it myself? And yet I’m sincere, I’m sincere. As for Ivan, I can understand how he must be cursing nature now—with his intellect, too! To see the preference given—to whom, to what? To a monster who, though he is betrothed and all eyes are fixed on him, can’t restrain his debaucheries—and before the very eyes of his betrothed! And a man like me is preferred, while he is rejected. And why? Because a girl wants to sacrifice her life and destiny out of gratitude. It’s ridiculous! I’ve never said a word of this to Ivan, and Ivan of course has never dropped a hint of the sort to me. But destiny will be accomplished, and the best man will hold his ground while the undeserving one will vanish into his back-alley for ever—his filthy back-alley, his beloved back-alley, where he is at home and where he will sink in filth and stench at his own free will and with enjoyment. I’ve been talking foolishly. I’ve no words left. I use them at random, but it will be as I have said. I shall drown in the back-alley, and she will marry Ivan.” “Stop, Dmitri,” Alyosha interrupted again with great anxiety. “There’s one thing you haven’t made clear yet: you are still betrothed all the same, aren’t you? How can you break off the engagement if she, your betrothed, doesn’t want to?” “Yes, formally and solemnly betrothed. It was all done on my arrival in Moscow, with great ceremony, with ikons, all in fine style. The general’s wife blessed us, and—would you believe it?—congratulated Katya. ‘You’ve made a good choice,’ she said, ‘I see right through him.’ And—would you believe it?—she didn’t like Ivan, and hardly greeted him. I had a lot of talk with Katya in Moscow. I told her about myself—sincerely, honorably. She listened to everything. There was sweet confusion, There were tender words. Though there were proud words, too. She wrung out of me a mighty promise to reform. I gave my promise, and here—” “What?” “Why, I called to you and brought you out here to-day, this very day—remember it—to send you—this very day again—to Katerina Ivanovna, and—” “What?” “To tell her that I shall never come to see her again. Say, ‘He sends you his compliments.’” “But is that possible?” “That’s just the reason I’m sending you, in my place, because it’s impossible. And, how could I tell her myself?” “And where are you going?” “To the back-alley.” “To Grushenka, then!” Alyosha exclaimed mournfully, clasping his hands. “Can Rakitin really have told the truth? I thought that you had just visited her, and that was all.”