will has as much power in this house as this!" saying which, he with an expressive mien threw upon the floor a chip of leather. "I know whose tricks they are, and why I am superfluous now; it is because I do not flatter and approve everything, as other people do. I am in the habit of speaking the truth at all times and to everybody," said he, proudly. "God be with them! They will not grow rich by not having me here, and I, God is merciful, will find a piece of bread somewhere. Am I right, Nikoláy?"
Nikoláy raised his head and looked at Karl Ivánovich, as if he wanted to assure himself that he would really be able to find a piece of bread, but he did not say anything.
Karl Ivánovich spoke much and long in that strain; he told of how his services had been much better appreciated at some general's, where he used to live (that pained me very much), he told of Saxony, of his parents, of his friend, tailor Schönheit, and so forth.
I sympathized with his sorrow, and I felt pained because my father and Karl Ivánovich, whom I respected about equally, did not understand each other; I again betook myself to my corner, sat down on my heels, and began to consider how to restore the right understanding between them.
When Karl Ivánovich returned to the class-room, he ordered me to get up, and to prepare the copy-book for dictation. When everything was ready, he majestically fell back into his chair, and in a voice which seemed to issue from some depth began to dictate as follows: "' Von al-len Lei-den-schaf-ten die grau-sam-ste ist' — haben Sie geschrieben?" Here he stopped, slowly snuffed some tobacco, and continued with renewed strength: "' Die grausamste ist, die Un-dank-bar-keit' — ein grosses U." Having finished the last word, and in expectation of something to follow, I looked at him.
"Punctum," said he, with a barely perceptible smile,
