That this worthless was not Malek-Adel; that between him and Malek-Adel there was not the smallest resemblance; that any man of the slightest sense would have seen this from the first minute; that he, Tchertop-hanov, had been taken in in the vulgarest way--no! that he purposely, of set intent, tricked himself, blinded his own eyes--of all this he had not now the faintest doubt!  
Tchertop-hanov walked up and down in his room, turning on his heels at each wall, like a beast in a cage. His vanity suffered intolerably; but he was not only tortured by the sting of wounded vanity; he was overwhelmed by despair, by rage, and burning with the thirst for revenge. But rage against whom? On whom was he to be revenged? On the Jew, Yaff, Masha, the deacon, the Cossack-thief, all his neighbours, the whole world, himself? His brain was giving way. The last card was ! (That gratified him.) And he was again the most worthless, the most of men, a common laughing-stock, a motley fool, a damned idiot, an object for jibes--to a deacon!... He fancied, he pictured how that pig-tailed priest would tell t............