"No deception at all."

"That's more likely, too. So he wrote that you should bring me his confession? Why didn't you bring it?"

"But he didn't die. I'll ask him."

"Bring it without fail, and there's no need to ask. He'll probably be very pleased, because it may be that his purpose in shooting himself was so that I should read his confession afterwards. Please, Lev Nikolaich, I beg you not to laugh at my words, because it may very well be so."

"I'm not laughing, because I'm sure myself that in part it may very well be so."

"You're sure? Do you really think so, too?" Aglaya suddenly became terribly surprised.

She questioned him quickly, spoke rapidly, but seemed to get confused at times and often did not finish; she kept hurrying to warn him about something; generally she was extraordinarily anxious, and though she looked at him very bravely and with a sort of defiance, she was perhaps also a little frightened. She

was wearing a most ordinary and simple dress, which was very becoming to her. She often started, blushed, and sat on the edge of the bench. She was very surprised when the prince agreed that Ippolit shot himself so that she should read his confession.

"Of course," the prince explained, "he wanted not only you but the rest of us also to praise him ..."

"How do you mean, praise him?"

"I mean it's . . . how shall I tell you? It's very hard to say. Only he surely wanted everyone to stand around him and tell him that they love and respect him very much, and start begging him to remain alive. It may well be that he had you in mind most of all, since he mentioned you at such a moment . . . though he may not have known himself that he had you in mind."

"That I don't understand at all: had me in mind, but didn't know he had me in mind. Though I think I do understand: do you know that I myself, even when I was still a thirteen-year-old girl, thought at least thirty times of poisoning myself, and of writing all about it in a letter to my parents, and I also thought of how I would lie in the coffin, and they would all weep over me and accuse themselves for being so cruel to me . . . Why are you smiling again?" she added quickly, frowning. "And what do you think to yourself when you dream alone? Maybe you imagine you're a field marshal and have crushed Napoleon?"

"Well, on my word of honor, that's just what I do think about, especially as I'm falling asleep," laughed the prince, "only it's not Napoleon I crush but the Austrians."

"I have no wish to joke with you, Lev Nikolaich. I will go to see Ippolit myself; I ask you to warn him. And on your side I find all this very bad, because it's very rude to look at and judge a man's soul the way you're judging Ippolit. You have no tenderness, only truth, that makes it unfair."

The prince reflected.

"I think you're being unfair to me," he said. "I don't find anything bad in his thinking that way, because everyone is inclined to think that way; besides, maybe he didn't think at all, but merely wanted ... he wanted to meet people for the last time, to deserve their respect and love; those are very good feelings, only somehow nothing turned out right; it's his sickness, and something else as well! Anyhow, with some people everything always turns out right, and with others it's like nothing in the world . . ."

"You probably added that about yourself," Aglaya observed.

"Yes, about myself," replied the prince, not noticing any malice in the question.

"Only, all the same, I should never have fallen asleep in your place; it means that wherever you snuggle up, you fall asleep at once; that's not very nice on your part."

"But I didn't sleep all night, then I walked and walked, got to the music . . ."

"What music?"

"Where they played yesterday, and then I came here, sat down, thought and thought, and fell asleep."

"Ah, so that's how it was? That changes everything in your favor . . . And why did you go to the music?"

"I don't know, I just . . ."

"All right, all right, later; you keep interrupting me, and what do I care if you went to the music? Who was that woman you dreamed about?"

"It was . . . about . . . you saw her . . ."

"I understand, I understand very well. You're very much . . . How did you dream of her, what did she look like? However, I don't want to know anything," she suddenly snapped in vexation, "don't interrupt me ..."

She waited a while, as if gathering her courage or trying to drive her vexation away.

"Here's the whole matter I invited you for: I want to propose that you be my friend. Why do you suddenly stare at me like that?" she added almost with wrath.

The prince was indeed peering at her intently at that moment, noticing that she had again begun to blush terribly. On such occasions, the more she blushed, the more she seemed to be angry with herself for it, as showed clearly in her flashing eyes; usually she would transfer her wrath a moment later to the one she was talking with, whether or not it was his fault, and begin to quarrel with him. Knowing and feeling her wildness and shyness, she usually entered little into conversation and was more taciturn than the other sisters, sometimes even much too taciturn. When, especially on such ticklish occasions, she absolutely had to speak, she would begin the conversation with an extraordinary haughtiness and as if with a sort of defiance. She always felt beforehand when she was beginning or about to begin to blush.

"Perhaps you don't want to accept my proposal?" she glanced haughtily at the prince.

"Oh, no, I do, only it's quite unnecessary . . . that is, I never thought there was any need to propose such a thing," the prince was abashed.

"And what did you think? Why would I have invited you here? What do you have in mind? However, maybe you consider me a little fool, as they all do at home?"

"I didn't know they considered you a fool. I ... I don't."

"You don't? Very intelligent on your part. The way you put it is especially intelligent."

"In my opinion, you may even be very intelligent at times," the prince went on. "Earlier you suddenly said something very intelligent. You said of my doubt about Ippolit: 'There's only truth in it, and that makes it unfair.' I'll remember that and think about it."

Aglaya suddenly flushed with pleasure. All these changes took place in her extremely openly and with extraordinary swiftness. The prince also rejoiced and even laughed with joy, looking at her.

"Now listen," she began again, "I've been waiting for you a long time, in order to tell you all this, I've been waiting ever since you wrote me that letter from there, and even earlier . . . You already heard half of it from me yesterday: I consider you a most honest and truthful man, the most honest and truthful of all, and if they say your mind . . . that is, that you're sometimes sick in your mind, it isn't right; I've decided and argued about it, because though you are in fact sick in your mind (you won't, of course, be angry at that, I'm speaking from a higher point), the main mind in you is better than in any of them, such as they would never even dream of, because there are two minds: the main one and the non-main one. Well? Isn't that so?"

"Maybe so," the prince barely uttered; his heart trembled and pounded terribly.

"I just knew you'd understand," she went on gravely. "Prince Shch. and Evgeny Pavlych don't understand anything about these two minds, neither does Alexandra, but imagine: maman did."