'But what makes you in such a hurry about it all of a sudden?'
'There is a reason for being in a hurry, brother.'
'And do you need a lot of money?'
'Yes, a lot. I . . . how can I tell you? I propose . . . getting married.'
Polozov set the glass he had been lifting to his lips on the table.
'Getting married!' he articulated in a voice thick with astonishment, and he folded his podgy hands on his stomach. 'So suddenly?'
'Yes . . . soon.'
'Your intended is in Russia, of course?'
'No, not in Russia.'
'Where then?'
'Here in Frankfort.'
'And who is she?'
'A German; that is, no—an Italian. A resident here.'
'With a fortune?'
'No, without a fortune.'
'Then I suppose your love is very ardent?'
'How absurd you are! Yes, very ardent.'
'And it's for that you must have money?'
'Well, yes . . . yes, yes.'
Polozov gulped down his wine, rinsed his mouth, and washed his hands, carefully wiped
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