Page:Dostoevsky - The Idiot, Collected Edition, 1916.djvu/13

man of about forty, with a red nose and pimpled face, sitting beside them.

He seemed to be some sort of petty official, with the typical failings of his class. "Perfectly true, they only absorb all the resources of Russia for nothing!"

"Oh, you are quite mistaken in my case!" the patient from Switzerland replied in a gentle and conciliatory voice. "I can't dispute your opinion, of course, because I don't know all about it, but my doctor shared his last penny with me for the journey here; and he's been keeping me for nearly two years at his expense."

"Why, had you no one to pay for you?" asked the dark man.

"No; Mr. Pavlishtehev, who used to pay for me there, died two years ago. I've written since to Petersburg, to Madame Epanchin, a distant relation of mine, but I've had no answer. So I've come. . . . "

"Where are you going then?"

"You mean, where am I going to say? . . . I really don't know yet. . . . Somewhere. . . . "

"You've not made up your mind yet?" And both his listeners laughed again.

"And I shouldn't wonder if that bundle is all you've got in the world?" queried the dark man.

"I wouldn't mind betting it is," chimed in the red-nosed official with a gleeful air, "and that he's nothing else in the luggage van, though poverty is no vice, one must admit."

It appeared that this was the case; the fair-haired young man acknowledged it at once with peculiar readiness.

"Your bundle has some value, anyway," the petty official went on, when they had laughed to their heart's content (strange to say, the owner of the bundle began to laugh too, looking at them, and that increased their mirth), "and though one may safely bet there is no gold in it, neither French, German, nor Dutch—one may be sure of that, if only from the gaiters you have got on over your foreign shoes—yet if you can add to your bundle a relation such as Madame Epanchin, the General's lady, the bundle acquires a very different value, that is if Madame Epanchin really is related to you, and you are not labouring under a delusion, a mistake that often happens . . . through excess imagination."

"Ah, you've guessed right again," the fair young man assented.