"Old" Belokonsky listened to all the feverish and desperate confessions of Lizaveta Prokofyevna and was not touched in the least by the tears of the disconcerted mother of the family, but even looked at her mockingly. She was a terrible despot; in friendship, even an old friendship, she could not bear equality, and she decidedly looked upon Lizaveta Prokofyevna as her protégée, just as thirty-five years ago, and she simply could not be reconciled with the sharpness and independence of her character. She noticed, among other things, that "it seemed they had all rushed too far ahead there, as was their habit, and made a mountain out of a molehill; that listen as she might, she was not convinced that anything serious had actually happened; that it might be better to wait until something did; that the prince was, in her opinion, a respectable young man, though sick, strange, and much too insignificant. The worst thing was that he openly kept a woman." Lizaveta Prokofyevna realized very well that Belokonsky was a bit cross about the unsuccess of Evgeny Pavlovich, whom she had recommended. She returned home to Pavlovsk still more irritated than when she had left, and everyone immediately got it from her, above all because they had "lost their minds," because decidedly

nobody else did things the way they did them; and "what's the hurry? What has happened? However much I look at it, I can in no way conclude that anything has actually happened! Wait until something does! No matter what Ivan Fyodorovich may have fancied, are we going to make a mountain out of a molehill?" etc., etc. The result, therefore, was that they needed to calm down, watch cool-headedly, and wait. But, alas, the calm did not hold out for even ten minutes. The first blow to cool-headedness came from the news of what had happened while the mother absented herself to Kamenny Island. (Lizaveta Prokofyevna's trip took place the morning after the prince had come calling past midnight instead of before ten.) The sisters answered their mother's impatient questioning in great detail, and said, first of all, that "precisely nothing, it seemed, had happened while she was away," that the prince came, that Aglaya took a long time, half an hour, before coming out to him, and when she did come out, suggested at once that she and the prince play chess; that the prince did not know the first thing about chess, and Aglaya beat him at once; she became very merry and shamed the prince terribly for his lack of skill, and laughed at him terribly, so that the prince was a pity to see. Then she suggested that they play cards, a game of "fools." But here it turned out quite the opposite: the prince proved to be as good at "fools" as ... as a professor; he played masterfully; Aglaya cheated, put cards back, stole his own tricks before his very eyes, and all the same he left her each time as the "fool"; five times in a row. Aglaya flew into a rage, even quite forgot herself; she said so many impudent and sarcastic things to the prince that he even stopped laughing, and he turned quite pale when she told him, finally, that "she would not set foot in this room while he was sitting there, and that it was even shameless on his part to call on them, and in the night at that, past midnight, after all that had happened." She then slammed the door and left. The prince went out as if from a funeral, despite all their attempts to comfort him. Suddenly, fifteen minutes after the prince left, Aglaya came running down to the terrace from upstairs, and in such a hurry that she did not even wipe her eyes, which were wet with tears. She came running down because Kolya arrived and brought a hedgehog. They all started looking at the hedgehog; to their questions, Kolya explained that the hedgehog was not his, and that he was now walking with his comrade, another schoolboy, Kostya Lebedev, who had stayed outside and was embarrassed to come in because he was carrying

an axe; that they had bought both the hedgehog and the axe from a peasant they had met. The peasant was selling the hedgehog and took fifty kopecks for it, and then they persuaded him to sell the axe as well, because it was an opportunity, and also a very good axe. Here Aglaya suddenly began pestering Kolya terribly to sell her the hedgehog at once, turned inside out, even called Kolya "dear." Kolya would not agree for a long time, but finally gave in and called Kostya Lebedev, who indeed came in carrying the axe and feeling very embarrassed. But here it suddenly turned out that the hedgehog did not belong to them at all, but to a third boy, Petrov, who had given them money to buy Schlosser's History²⁴ from some fourth boy, who, being in need of money, was selling it at a bargain price; that they set out to buy Schlosser's History, but could not help themselves and bought the hedgehog, and therefore both the hedgehog and the axe belonged to that third boy, to whom they were now taking them in place of Schlosser's History. But Aglaya pestered them so much that they finally decided to sell her the hedgehog. As soon as Aglaya got the hedgehog, she put it into a wicker basket with Kolya's help, covered it with a napkin, and started asking Kolya to go at once and, without stopping anywhere, take the hedgehog to the prince on her behalf, with the request that he accept it as "a token of her profoundest respect." Kolya gladly agreed and promised to deliver it, but immediately began to pester her: "What was the meaning of the hedgehog and of such a present?" Aglaya replied that that was none of his business. He replied that he was sure it contained some allegory. Aglaya became angry and snapped at him that he was a little brat and nothing more. Kolya at once retorted that if it were not for his respect for the woman in her, and for his own convictions on top of it, he would immediately prove to her that he knew how to respond to such insults. It ended, however, with Kolya delightedly going all the same to deliver the hedgehog, and Kostya Lebedev running after him; Aglaya could not help herself and, seeing Kolya swinging the basket too hard, shouted behind him from the terrace: "Please, Kolya dearest, don't drop it!"—as if she had not just quarreled with him; Kolya stopped and, also as if he had not just been quarreling, shouted with great readiness: "No, I won't drop it, Aglaya Ivanovna. Be completely assured!" and ran on at breakneck speed. After that Aglaya laughed terribly and ran to her room extremely pleased, and then was very cheerful all day.

This news completely dumbfounded Lizaveta Prokofyevna. One

might wonder, why so? But such, evidently, was the mood she had come to. Her anxiety was aroused to the utmost degree, and above all—the hedgehog; what was the meaning of the hedgehog? Was it prearranged? Did it imply something? Was it some sort of sign? A telegram? What's more, poor Ivan Fyodorovich, who happened to be present at the interrogation, spoiled things completely with his answer. In his opinion, there was no telegram, and the hedgehog was "just a simple hedgehog—and perhaps also meant friendship, the forgetting of offenses, and reconciliation; in short, it was all a prank, but in any case innocent and pardonable."

Let us note parenthetically that he had guessed perfectly right. The prince, having returned home from seeing Aglaya, mocked and driven out by her, had been sitting for half an hour in the darkest despair, when Kolya suddenly arrived with the hedgehog. At once the sky cleared. It was as if the prince rose from the dead; he questioned Kolya, hanging on his every word, repeated his questions ten times, laughed like a child, and kept pressing the hands of the two laughing and bright-eyed boys. So it turned out that Aglaya had forgiven him, and the prince could go to see her again that very evening, and for him that was not only the main thing, but even everything.