'Then explain what you meant by your last expression.'
'Certainly; in my idea, every official is an outsider, and has always been so, and the gentry have now become outsiders.'
Kallomyetsev laughed still more.
'I beg your pardon, my dear sir; that I can't make head or tail of!'
'So much the worse for you. Make a great effort . . . perhaps you will understand it.'
'Sir!'
'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Sipyagin interposed hurriedly with an air of searching earnestly about him for some one. 'If you please, if you please . . . Kallomyetsev, je vous prie de vous calmer. And dinner will be ready soon, to be sure. Pray, gentlemen, follow me!'
'Valentina Mihalovna!' whined Kallomyetsev, running into her boudoir five minutes later, 'it's really beyond everything what your husband is doing! One Nihilist installed here among you already, and now he's bringing in another! And this one's the worst!'
'How so?'
'Upon my word, he's advocating the deuce knows what; and besides—observe one thing: he has been talking to your husband for a whole hour, and never once, not once, did he say, Your Excellency! Le vagabond!'
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