Listen to me. Im speaking to you for the last time. What should I want to joke with you for? Have I ever thwarted you? Who was it arranged it all for you? Who found your priest? Who took your passport? Who got you your money? It has all been my doing.
Well, and thank you for it. Do you suppose Im not grateful? Anatole sighed and embraced Dolohov.
I have helped you; but still I ought to tell you the truth: its a dangerous business, and if you come to think of it, its stupid. Come, you carry her off, well and good. Do you suppose theyll let it rest? It will come out that you are married. Why, they will have you up on a criminal charge, you know
Oh, nonsense, nonsense! said Anatole, frowning again. Why, didnt I explain to you? Eh? and Anatole, with that peculiar partiality (common in persons of dull brain), for any conclusion to which they have been led by their own mental processes, repeated the argument he had repeated a hundred times over to Dolohov already. Why, I explained it, I settled that. If this marriage is invalid, he said, crooking his finger, then it follows Im not answerable for it. Well, and if it is valid, it wont matter. No one will ever know of it abroad, so, you see, its all right, isnt it? And dont talk to me; dont talk to me; dont talk to me!
Really, you drop it. Youll get yourself into a mess
You go to the devil! said Anatole, and clutching at his hair he went off into the next room, but at once returning he sat with his legs up on an arm-chair close to Dolohov and facing him. Devil only knows whats the matter with me! Eh? See how it beats. He took Dolohovs hand and put it on his heart. Ah, what a foot, my dear boy, what a glance! A goddess! he said in French. Eh?
Dolohov, with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome impudent eyes, looked at him, obviously disposed to get a little more amusement out of him.
Well, your money will be gone, what then?
What then? Eh? repeated Anatole, with genuine perplexity at the thought of the future. What then? I dont know what then Come, why talk nonsense? He looked at his watch. Its time!
Anatole went into the back room.
Well, will you soon have done? Youre dawdling there, he shouted at the servants.
Dolohov put away the money; and calling a servant to give him orders about getting something to eat and drink before the journey, he went into the room where Hvostikov and Makarin were sitting.
Anatole lay down on the sofa in the study, and, propped on his elbows, smiled pensively and murmured something fervently to himself.
Come and have something to eat. Here, have a drink! Dolohov shouted to him from the other room.
I dont want to, answered Anatole, still smiling.
Come, Balaga is here.
Anatole got up, and went into the dining-room. Balaga was a well-known driver, who had known Dolohov and Anatole for the last six years, and driven them in his three-horse sledges. More than once, when Anatoles regiment had been stationed at Tver, he had driven him out of Tver in the evening, reached Moscow by dawn, and driven him back the next night. More than once he had driven Dolohov safe away when he was being pursued. Many a time he had driven them about the town with gypsies and gay ladies, as he called them. More than one horse had he ruined in driving them. More than once he had driven over people and upset vehicles in Moscow, and always his gentlemen, as he called them, had
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