supposed, there had been some special conversation between Ippolit and Nina Alexandrovna, then it was odd that this wicked gentleman, whom Ganya so directly called a gossip, had denied himself the pleasure of enlightening Kolya in the same way. It may well be that he was not such a wicked "little brat," as Ganya had described him, talking with his sister, but was wicked in some other way; and he had hardly informed Nina Alexandrovna of some observation of his solely in order to "break her heart." Let us not forget that the reasons for human actions are usually incalculably more complex and diverse than we tend to explain them later, and are seldom clearly manifest. Sometimes it is best for the narrator to limit himself to a simple account of events. So we shall do in our further clarification of the present catastrophe with the general; for, in spite of all our efforts, we find ourselves in the decided necessity of giving a bit more attention and space to this secondary character of our story than we had hitherto intended.

The events followed one another in this order:

When Lebedev, after his journey to Petersburg in search of Ferdyshchenko, returned that same day, together with the general, he did not tell the prince anything in particular. If at that time the prince had not been so distracted and taken up with other impressions important for him, he might soon have noticed that for the following two days Lebedev not only did not offer him any explanations but even, on the contrary, seemed to avoid meeting him. Paying attention to that at last, the prince wondered why, during those two days, when he had chanced to meet Lebedev, he remembered him not otherwise than in the most radiant spirits, and almost always together with the general. The two friends never parted for a moment now. Occasionally the prince heard loud and rapid conversation, guffawing, merry argument, coming to him from upstairs; once even, very late in the evening, suddenly and unexpectedly, the sounds of a military-bacchic song reached him, and he immediately recognized the general's hoarse bass. But the resounding song did not come off and suddenly died out. Then, for about an hour more, a very animated and, by all tokens, drunken conversation went on. One could guess that the merrymaking friends upstairs kept embracing, and one of them finally wept. Then suddenly a violent quarrel ensued, which also died out quickly and soon. All this while Kolya was in a somehow especially preoccupied mood. The prince was most often away from home and sometimes came back very late; he was always told that Kolya had

been looking for him and asking after him all day long. But when they met, Kolya could not say anything special, except that he was decidedly "displeased" with the general and his present behavior: "They drag themselves around, drink in the local tavern, embrace each other, quarrel in the streets, egg each other on, and simply cannot part." When the prince observed to him that earlier as well it had been the same almost every day, Kolya decidedly did not know what to answer to that and how to explain precisely what caused his present anxiety.

The morning after the bacchic song and quarrel, when the prince was leaving the house at around eleven o'clock, the general suddenly appeared before him, extremely agitated by something, almost shaken.

"I have long been seeking the honor and occasion of meeting you, my much-esteemed Lev Nikolaevich, long, very long," he murmured, pressing the prince's hand extremely hard, almost painfully, "very, very long."

The prince invited him to sit down.

"No, I won't sit down, and moreover I'm keeping you, I will— some other time. It seems I may take this opportunity to congratulate you on . . . the fulfillment . . . of your heart's desires."

"What heart's desires?"

The prince was embarrassed. Like a great many people in his position, he thought that decidedly no one saw anything, guessed anything, understood anything.

"Don't worry, don't worry! I won't upset your most delicate feelings. I have experienced and know myself how it is when a stranger's . . . nose, so to speak . . . according to the saying . . . goes poking where it hasn't been invited. I experience it every morning. I have come on a different matter, Prince, an important one. A very important matter, Prince."

The prince once again invited him to sit down and sat down himself.

"Perhaps for one second . . . I've come for advice. I, of course, live without any practical goals, but, having respect for myself and . . . for efficiency, which is so lacking in the Russian man, generally speaking ... I wish to put myself, my wife, and my children in a position ... in short, Prince, I am looking for advice."

The prince warmly praised his intention.

"Well, that's all nonsense," the general quickly interrupted, "moreover, I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about something

different, and important. And I shall venture to explain it precisely to you, Lev Nikolaevich, as a man the sincerity of whose reception and the nobility of whose feelings I trust as . . . as . . . You're not surprised at my words, Prince?"

The prince was following his visitor with great attention and curiosity, if not with any particular surprise. The old man was slightly pale, his lips occasionally twitched a little, his hands seemed unable to find a place to rest. He had been sitting for only a few minutes, and had twice managed to get up suddenly from his chair for some reason and suddenly to sit down again, obviously not paying the least attention to his maneuvers. Some books were lying on the table; he took one, went on talking, opened it and peeked at a page, closed it again at once and put it on the table, snatched another book, which he did not open now, but spent the rest of the time holding in his right hand, constantly brandishing it in the air.

"Enough!" he cried suddenly. "I see I've greatly inconvenienced you.

"Why, not in the least, good heavens, you're quite welcome. On the contrary, I've been listening and wish I could guess . . ."

"Prince! I wish to put myself in a respectable position ... I wish to respect myself and . . . my rights."

"A man with such wishes is deserving of every respect for that alone."

The prince uttered this copybook phrase in the firm conviction that it would have an excellent effect. He somehow instinctively guessed that such a hollow but agreeable phrase, if spoken aptly, might suddenly subdue and pacify the soul of such a man, and especially in such a position as the general's. In any case, such a visitor had to be sent away with his heart eased, and in that lay his task.

The phrase flattered, touched, and greatly pleased: the general suddenly waxed sentimental, instantly changed tone, and lapsed into rapturously lengthy explanations. But no matter how the prince strained, no matter how he listened, he literally could not understand a thing. The general spoke for some ten minutes, heatedly, quickly, as if he had no time to articulate his crowding thoughts; in the end tears even glistened in his eyes, but all the same it was only phrases with no beginning or end, unexpected words and unexpected thoughts, which broke through quickly and unexpectedly and leaped one over the other.

"Enough! You've understood me, and I am at peace," he suddenly concluded, getting up. "A heart such as yours cannot fail to understand a sufferer. Prince, you are as noble as an ideal! What are others compared with you? But you are young, and I give you my blessing. In the final end I have come to ask you to appoint me an hour for a serious conversation, and in this lies my chiefest hope. I seek only friendship and heart, Prince; I never could control the demands of my heart."