Alyosha stood rooted to the spot, watching the scene in silence. Meanwhile, Fyodor Pavlovitch had got into the carriage, and Ivan was about to follow him in grim silence without even turning to say good-by to Alyosha. But at this point another almost incredible scene of grotesque buffoonery gave the finishing touch to the episode. Maximov suddenly appeared by the side of the carriage. He ran up, panting, afraid of being too late. Rakitin and Alyosha saw him running. He was in such a hurry that in his impatience he put his foot on the step on which Ivan’s left foot was still resting, and clutching the carriage he kept trying to jump in. “I am going with you!” he kept shouting, laughing a thin mirthful laugh with a look of reckless glee in his face. “Take me, too.” “There!” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, delighted. “Did I not say he was von Sohn. It is von Sohn himself, risen from the dead. Why, how did you tear yourself away? What did you _vonsohn_ there? And how could you get away from the dinner? You must be a brazen-faced fellow! I am that myself, but I am surprised at you, brother! Jump in, jump in! Let him pass, Ivan. It will be fun. He can lie somewhere at our feet. Will you lie at our feet, von Sohn? Or perch on the box with the coachman. Skip on to the box, von Sohn!” But Ivan, who had by now taken his seat, without a word gave Maximov a violent punch in the breast and sent him flying. It was quite by chance he did not fall. “Drive on!” Ivan shouted angrily to the coachman. “Why, what are you doing, what are you about? Why did you do that?” Fyodor Pavlovitch protested. But the carriage had already driven away. Ivan made no reply. “Well, you are a fellow,” Fyodor Pavlovitch said again. After a pause of two minutes, looking askance at his son, “Why, it was you got up all this monastery business. You urged it, you approved of it. Why are you angry now?” “You’ve talked rot enough. You might rest a bit now,” Ivan snapped sullenly. Fyodor Pavlovitch was silent again for two minutes. “A drop of brandy would be nice now,” he observed sententiously, but Ivan made no response. “You shall have some, too, when we get home.” Ivan was still silent. Fyodor Pavlovitch waited another two minutes. “But I shall take Alyosha away from the monastery, though you will dislike it so much, most honored Karl von Moor.” Ivan shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and turning away stared at the road. And they did not speak again all the way home. Book III. The Sensualists Chapter I. In The Servants’ Quarters