The money refused to be counted.

His fingers fumbled helplessly, and to complete his shame a green note escaped from the pocket-book, and fluttered in zigzags on to the carpet.
"Twenty roubles, madam." He leapt up suddenly with the roll of notes in his hand, his face perspiring with discomfort.

Noticing the note which had dropped on the floor, he was bending down to pick it up, but for some reason overcome by shame, he dismissed it with a wave.
"For your servants, madam; for the footman who picks it up.

Let them remember my sister!" "I cannot allow that," Varvara Petrovna brought out hurriedly, even with some alarm.
"In that case..." He bent down, picked it up, flushing crimson, and suddenly going up to Varvara Petrovna held out the notes he had counted.
"What's this ?" she cried, really alarmed at last, and positively shrinking back in her chair.
Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Stepan Trofimovitch, and I all stepped forward.
"Don't be alarmed, don't be alarmed; I'm not mad, by God, I'm not mad," the captain kept asseverating excitedly.
"Yes, sir, you're out of your senses." "Madam, she's not at all as you suppose.

I am an insignificant link.
Oh, madam, wealthy are your mansions, but poor is the dwelling of Marya Anonyma, my sister, whose maiden name was Lebyadkin, but whom we'll call Anonyma for the time, only for _the time,_ madam, for God Himself will not suffer it for ever.