all his remarks direct to the prince.

"Dear me--is it possible?" observed the clerk, while his face
assumed an expression of great deference and servility--if not of
absolute alarm: "what, a son of that very Semen Rogojin--
hereditary honourable citizen--who died a month or so ago and
left two million and a half of roubles?"

"And how do YOU know that he left two million and a half of
roubles?" asked Rogojin, disdainfully, and no deigning so much as
to look at the other. "However, it's true enough that my father
died a month ago, and that here am I returning from Pskoff, a
month after, with hardly a boot to my foot. They've treated me like
a dog! I've been ill of fever at Pskoff the whole time, and not a
line, nor farthing of money, have I received from my mother or my
confounded brother!"

"And now you'll have a million roubles, at least--goodness
gracious me!" exclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.

"Five weeks since, I was just like yourself," continued Rogojin,
addressing the prince, "with nothing but a bundle and the clothes
I wore. I ran away from my father and came to Pskoff to my aunt's
house, where I caved in at once with fever, and he went and died
while I was away. All honour to my respected father's memory--but
he uncommonly nearly killed me, all the same. Give you my word,
prince, if I hadn't cut and run then, when I did, he'd have
murdered me like a dog."

"I suppose you angered him somehow?" asked the prince, looking at