She came over friskily, sat down next to Alyosha on the sofa, and looked at him decidedly with admiration. She really was glad, she was not lying when she said so. Her eyes were shining, her lips laughing, but good-naturedly, gaily. Alyosha never expected to see such a kind expression on her face ... He had seldom met her until the day before, had formed a horrifying notion of her, and had been so terribly shocked the day before by her vicious and perfidious escapade with Katerina Ivanovna, that he was very surprised now suddenly to see in her, as it were, quite a different and unexpected being. And however weighed down he was by his own grief, his eyes involuntarily rested on her with attention. Her whole manner also seemed to have changed for the better since the day before: there was almost no trace of that sugary inflection, of those pampered and affected movements ... everything was simple, simple-hearted, her movements were quick, direct, trusting, but she was very excited.
“Oh, Lord, such things keep coming true today, really,” she began prattling again. “And why I’m so glad of you, Alyosha, I don’t know myself. If you asked, I couldn’t say.”
‘“You really don’t know why you’re glad?” Rakitin grinned. “There must have been some reason why you kept pestering me to bring him, bring him, all the time.”
“I had a different reason before, but that’s gone now, it’s not the right moment. I’ll feed you now, that’s what. I’ve become kind now, Rakitka. Do sit down, Rakitka, why are you standing? Ah, you are sitting down? Never fear, Rakitushka will always look out for himself. Now he’s sitting across from us, Alyosha, and feeling offended because I didn’t ask him to sit down before you. My Rakitka is touchy, oh, so touchy!” Grushenka laughed. “Don’t be angry, Rakitka, I’m feeling kind today. But why are you sitting there so sadly, Alyoshechka, or are you afraid of me?” she looked into his eyes with mocking gaiety.
“He has a grief. He didn’t get promoted,” Rakitin said in a deep voice.
“What do you mean, promoted?”
“His elder got smelly.”
“What do you mean, ‘smelly’? You’re spewing a lot of nonsense, you just want to say something nasty. Shut up, fool. Will you let me sit on your lap, Alyosha—like this!” And all at once she sprang up suddenly and, laughing, leaped onto his knees like an affectionate cat, tenderly embracing his neck with her right arm. “I’ll cheer you up, my pious boy! No, really, will you let me sit on your lap for a little, you won’t be angry? Tell me—I’ll jump off.”
Alyosha was silent. He sat afraid to move; he heard her say: “Tell me—I’ll jump off,” but did not answer, as if he were frozen. Yet what was happening in him was not what might have been expected, or what might have been imagined, for example, by Rakitin, who was watching carnivorously from where he sat. The great grief in his soul absorbed all the feelings his heart might have conceived, and if he had been able at that moment to give himself a full accounting, he would have understood that he was now wearing the strongest armor against any seduction and temptation. Nevertheless, despite all the vague unaccountability of his state of soul and all the grief that was weighing on him, he still could not help marveling at a new and strange sensation that was awakening in his heart: this woman, this “horrible” woman, not only did not arouse in him the fear he had felt before, the fear that used to spring up in him every time he thought of a woman, if such a thought flashed through his soul, but, on the contrary, this woman, of whom he was afraid most of all, who was sitting on his knees and embracing him, now aroused in him suddenly quite a different, unexpected, and special feeling, the feeling of some remarkable, great, and most pure-hearted curiosity, and without any fear now, without a trace of his former terror—that was the main thing, and it could not but surprise him.
“Stop babbling nonsense,” Rakitin cried. “You’d better bring us champagne, you owe it to me, you know!”
“It’s true, I owe it to him. I promised him champagne, Alyosha, on top of everything else, if he brought you to me. Let’s have champagne, I’ll drink, too! Fenya, Fenya, bring us champagne, the bottle Mitya left, run quickly. Though I’m stingy, I’ll stand you a bottle—not you, Rakitka, you’re a mushroom, but he is a prince! And though my soul is full of something else now, I’ll drink with you all the same, I want to be naughty!”
“But what is this moment of yours, and what, may I ask, is this message, or is it a secret?” Rakitin put in again with curiosity, pretending as hard as he could that he did not notice the barbs that kept coming at him.
“Eh, it’s no secret, and you know it yourself,” Grushenka suddenly said worriedly, turning to look at Rakitin and leaning back a little from Alyosha, though she stayed seated on his lap with her arm around his neck. “The officer is coming, Rakitin, my officer is coming!”
“I heard he was coming, but is he so nearby?”
