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"
The
devil
knows
what
it
means
,
"
growled
Ivan
Fedorovitch
,
under
his
breath
;
"
it
must
have
taken
the
united
wits
of
fifty
footmen
to
write
it
.
"
"
May
I
ask
your
reason
for
such
an
insulting
supposition
,
sir
?
"
said
Hippolyte
,
trembling
with
rage
.
"
You
will
admit
yourself
,
general
,
that
for
an
honourable
man
,
if
the
author
is
an
honourable
man
,
that
is
an
--
an
insult
,
"
growled
the
boxer
suddenly
,
with
convulsive
jerkings
of
his
shoulders
.
"
In
the
first
place
,
it
is
not
for
you
to
address
me
as
'
sir
,
'
and
,
in
the
second
place
,
I
refuse
to
give
you
any
explanation
,
"
said
Ivan
Fedorovitch
vehemently
;
and
he
rose
without
another
word
,
and
went
and
stood
on
the
first
step
of
the
flight
that
led
from
the
verandah
to
the
street
,
turning
his
back
on
the
company
.
He
was
indignant
with
Lizabetha
Prokofievna
,
who
did
not
think
of
moving
even
now
.
"
Gentlemen
,
gentlemen
,
let
me
speak
at
last
,
"
cried
the
prince
,
anxious
and
agitated
.
"
Please
let
us
understand
one
another
.
I
say
nothing
about
the
article
,
gentlemen
,
except
that
every
word
is
false
;
I
say
this
because
you
know
it
as
well
as
I
do
.
It
is
shameful
.
I
should
be
surprised
if
any
one
of
you
could
have
written
it
.
"
"
I
did
not
know
of
its
existence
till
this
moment
,
"
declared
Hippolyte
.
"
I
do
not
approve
of
it
.
"
"
I
knew
it
had
been
written
,
but
I
would
not
have
advised
its
publication
,
"
said
Lebedeff
's
nephew
,
"
because
it
is
premature
.
"
"
I
knew
it
,
but
I
have
a
right
.
I.
.
.
I.
.
.
"
stammered
the
"
son
of
Pavlicheff
.
"
"
What
!
Did
you
write
all
that
yourself
?
Is
it
possible
?
"
asked
the
prince
,
regarding
Burdovsky
with
curiosity
.
"
One
might
dispute
your
right
to
ask
such
questions
,
"
observed
Lebedeff
's
nephew
.
