"That's loathsome!"

"Precisely loathsome, sir. That's the word, sir!"

"And what is this way you have ... of acting so strangely? You're . . . simply a spy! Why did you write an anonymous letter and trouble . . . that most noble and kind woman? Why, finally, does Aglaya Ivanovna have no right to correspond with whomever she likes? Why did you go there today, to make a complaint? What did you hope to gain? What moved you to turn informer?"

"Only pleasant curiosity and ... an obligingly noble soul, yes, sir!" Lebedev murmured. "But now I'm all yours, all yours again! You can hang me!"

"Did you go to Lizaveta Prokofyevna's the way you are now?" the prince inquired with repugnance.

"No, sir . . . fresher . . . and even more decent, sir; it was after my humiliation that I achieved . . . this look, sir."

"Very well, leave me."

However, this request had to be repeated several times before the visitor finally decided to leave. Having already opened the door,

*It is my fault, it is my fault.

he came back again, tiptoed to the middle of the room, and again began to make signs with his hands, showing how to open a letter; he did not dare to put this advice into words; then he went out, smiling quietly and sweetly.

All this was extremely painful to hear. One chief and extraordinary fact stood out amidst it all: that Aglaya was in great anxiety, in great indecision, in great torment for some reason ("from jealousy," the prince whispered to himself). It was also clear, of course, that unkind people were confusing her, and it was all the more strange that she trusted them so much. Of course, some special plans were ripening in that inexperienced but hot and proud little head, ruinous plans, perhaps . . . and like nothing else. The prince was extremely alarmed and in his confusion did not know what to decide. He absolutely had to prevent something, he could feel it. Once again he looked at the address on the sealed letter: oh, there was no doubt or anxiety for him here, because he trusted her; something else troubled him in this letter: he did not trust Gavrila Ardalionovich. And, nevertheless, he decided to give him the letter himself, personally, and had already left the house in order to do so, but on his way he changed his mind. As if on purpose, almost at Ptitsyn's house, the prince ran into Kolya and charged him with putting the letter into his brother's hands, as if directly from Aglaya Ivanovna herself. Kolya asked no questions and delivered it, so that Ganya never even imagined the letter had gone through so many stations. On returning home, the prince asked to see Vera Lukyanovna, told her as much as was necessary, and calmed her down, because she had been searching for the letter and weeping all the while. She was horrified when she learned that her father had taken the letter. (The prince later learned from her that she had secretly served Rogozhin and Aglaya Ivanovna more than once; it had never occurred to her that it might be something harmful to the prince . . .)

And the prince finally became so upset that when, two hours later, a messenger came running to him from Kolya with news of his father's illness, he could scarely understand at first what it was all about. But this same incident restored him, because it distracted him greatly. He stayed at Nina Alexandrovna's (where, of course, the sick man had been transported) almost till evening. He was of almost no use, but there are people whom, for some reason, it is pleasant to see around one at certain difficult moments. Kolya was terribly struck, wept hysterically, but nevertheless ran errands

all the time: ran to fetch a doctor and found three, ran to the pharmacy, to the barber.³² The general was revived, but he did not come to his senses; as the doctors put it, "in any case the patient is in danger." Varya and Nina Alexandrovna never left the sick man's side; Ganya was confused and shaken, but did not want to go upstairs and was even afraid to see the sick man; he wrung his hands and in an incoherent conversation with the prince managed to say, "just look, such a misfortune, and, as if on purpose, at such a time!" The prince thought he understood precisely what time he was talking about. The prince found that Ippolit was no longer in Ptitsyn's house. Towards evening Lebedev, who had slept uninterruptedly since their morning "talk," came running. He was almost sober now and wept real tears over the sick man, as if over his own brother. He loudly blamed himself, though without explaining what for, and pestered Nina Alexandrovna, assuring her every moment that "he, he himself was the cause, and no one but he . . . solely out of pleasant curiosity . . . and that the 'deceased' " (as he stubbornly called the still-living general for some reason) "was even a man of great genius!" He insisted especially seriously on his genius, as if some extraordinary benefit could be derived from it at that moment. Nina Alexandrovna, seeing his genuine tears, finally said to him, without any reproach and even almost with tenderness: "Well, God be with you, don't weep now, God will forgive you!" Lebedev was so struck by these words and their tone that he would not leave Nina Alexandrovna's side all evening (and in all the following days, till the general's death, he stayed in their house almost from morning till night). Twice in the course of the day a messenger came to Nina Alexandrovna from Lizaveta Prokofyevna to ask after the sick man's health. When, at nine o'clock that evening, the prince appeared in the Epanchins' drawing room, which was already filled with guests, Lizaveta Prokofyevna at once began questioning him about the sick man, with sympathy and in detail, and responded gravely to Belokonsky's question: "Who is this sick man and who is Nina Alexandrovna?" The prince liked that very much. He himself, in talking with Lizaveta Prokofyevna, spoke "beautifully," as Aglaya's sisters explained afterwards: "modestly, softly, without unnecessary words, without gestures, with dignity; he entered beautifully, was excellently dressed," and not only did not "trip on the smooth floor," but obviously even made a pleasant impression on everyone.

For his part, having sat down and looked around, he noticed at once that this whole gathering bore no resemblance to the specters Aglaya had frightened him with yesterday, or to the nightmares he had had during the night. For the first time in his life he saw a small corner of what is known by the terrible name of "society." For a long time now, owing to certain special intentions, considerations, and yearnings of his own, he had desired to penetrate this magic circle of people and was therefore greatly interested in his first impression. This first impression of his was even delightful. It appeared to him somehow at once and suddenly that all these people had, as it were, been born to be together; that there was no "evening" at the Epanchins' that evening and no invited guests, that these were all "our people," and it was as if he himself had long been their devoted and like-minded friend, who had now returned to them after a recent separation. The charm of elegant manners, the simplicity and seeming candor were almost magical. It would never have occurred to him that all this simple-heartedness and nobility, sharp wit and lofty dignity might only be a splendid artistic contrivance. The majority of the guests, despite their imposing appearance, were even rather empty people, who, incidentally, in their self-satisfaction did not know themselves that much of what was good in them was only a contrivance, for which, moreover, they were not to blame, for they had acquired it unconsciously and by inheritance. This the prince did not even want to suspect, under the spell of his lovely first impression. He saw, for instance, that this old man, this important dignitary, who by his age might have been his grandfather, even interrupted his own conversation in order to listen to such a young and inexperienced man as he, and not only listened to him but clearly valued his opinion, was so gentle with him, so sincerely good-natured, and yet they were strangers and were seeing each other for the first time. Perhaps in his ardent susceptibility the prince was most affected by the refinement of this politeness. Perhaps he had been all too disposed beforehand and even won over to a happy impression.