"He is the only one left me now, the only one, my one hope!" he cried suddenly, clasping his hands as though struck by a new idea. "Only he, my poor boy, can save me now, and, oh, why doesn't he come! Oh, my son, oh, my Petrusha.... And though I do not deserve the name of father, but rather that of tiger, yet..._Laissez-moi, mon ami,_ I'll lie down a little, to collect my ideas. I am so tired, so tired. And I think it's time you were in bed. _Voyez vous,_ it's twelve o'clock...." CHAPTER IV. THE CRIPPLE I SHATOV WAS NOT PERVERSE but acted on my note, and called at midday on Lizaveta Nikolaevna. We went in almost together; I was also going to make my first call. They were all, that is Liza, her mother, and Mavriky Nikolaevitch, sitting in the big drawing-room, arguing. The mother was asking Liza to play some waltz on the piano, and as soon as Liza began to play the piece asked for, declared it was not the right one. Mavriky Nikolaevitch in the simplicity of his heart took Liza's part, maintaining that it was the right waltz. The elder lady was so angry that she began to cry. She was ill and walked with difficulty. Her legs were swollen, and for the last few days she had been continually fractious, quarrelling with every one, though she always stood rather in awe of Liza. They were pleased to see us. Liza flushed with pleasure, and saying _"merci"_ to me, on Shatov's account of course, went to meet him, looking at him with interest. Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for coming she led him up to her mother. "This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is Mr. G----v, a great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimovitch's. Mavriky Nikolaevitch made his acquaintance yesterday, too." "And which is the professor?" "There's no professor at all, maman." "But there is. You said yourself that there'd be a professor. It's this one, probably." She disdainfully indicated Shatov. "I didn't tell you that there'd be a professor. Mr. G----v is in the service, and Mr. Shatov is a former student." "A student or professor, they all come from the university just the same. You only want to argue. But the Swiss one had moustaches and a beard." "It's the son of Stepan Trofimovitch that maman always calls the professor," said Liza, and she took Shatov away to the sofa at the other end of the drawing-room. "When her legs swell, she's always like this, you understand she's ill," she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked curiosity, scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair. "Are you an officer?" the old lady inquired of me. Liza had mercilessly abandoned me to her. "N-no.--I'm in the service...." "Mr. G----v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch's," Liza chimed in immediately. "Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch's service? Yes, and he's a professor, too, isn't he?" "Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors," cried Liza with annoyance.