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Chapter 8

           Hewasdressedinanoldcoat,andhesmelledofvodkawhenhecamenear.Hiswalkwaseffective,andheclearlydidhisbesttoappeardignified,andtoimpresspeoplebyhismanner.

           Thisgentlemannowapproachedtheprinceslowly,andwithamostcourteoussmile;silentlytookhishandandhelditinhisown,asheexaminedtheprince’sfeaturesasthoughsearchingforfamiliartraitstherein.

           “‘Tishe,‘tishe!”hesaidatlast,quietly,butwithmuchsolemnity.“Asthoughhewerealiveoncemore.Iheardthefamiliarname—thedearfamiliarname—and,oh!howitremindedmeoftheirrevocablepast—PrinceMuishkin,Ibelieve?”

           “Exactlyso.”

           “GeneralIvolgin—retiredandunfortunate.MayIaskyourChristianandgenericnames?”

           “LefNicolaievitch.”

           “So,so—thesonofmyold,Imaysaymychildhood’sfriend,NicolaiPetrovitch.”

           “Myfather’snamewasNicolaiLvovitch.”

           “Lvovitch,”repeatedthegeneralwithouttheslightesthaste,andwithperfectconfidence,justasthoughhehadnotcommittedhimselftheleastintheworld,butmerelymadealittleslipofthetongue.Hesatdown,andtakingtheprince’shand,drewhimtoaseatnexttohimself.

           “Icarriedyouinmyarmsasababy,”heobserved.

           “Really?”askedtheprince.“Why,it’stwentyyearssincemyfatherdied.”

           “Yes,yes—twentyyearsandthreemonths.

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