already. I left a lot there, too much. It's all vanished. I sat on the train thinking: 'Now I'm going to be with people; maybe I don't know anything, but the new life has come.' I decided to do my duty honestly and firmly. Maybe it will be boring and painful for me to be with people. In the first place I decided to be polite and candid with everybody; no one can ask more of me. Maybe I'll be considered a child here, too—so be it! Everybody also considers me an idiot for some reason, and in fact I was once so ill that I was like an idiot; but what sort of idiot am I now, when I myself understand that I'm considered an idiot? I come in and think: 'They consider me an idiot, but I'm intelligent all the same, and they don't even suspect it . . .' I often have that thought. When I was in Berlin and received several little letters they had already managed to write to me, it was only then that I realized how much I loved them. Receiving the first letter was very hard! How sad they were as they saw me off! They began a month ahead: 'Léon s'en va, Léon s'en va pour toujours.'* Every evening we gathered by the waterfall as before and kept talking about our parting. Sometimes it was as joyful as before; only when we broke up for the night, they started hugging me tightly and warmly, which they never did before. Some came running to see me in secret from the rest, singly, only in order to hug me and kiss me alone, not in front of everybody. When I was setting out, all of them, the whole swarm, saw me off to the station. The railway station was about half a mile from the village. They tried to keep from crying, but many failed and cried loudly, especially the girls. We hurried so as not to be late, but one or another of the crowd would suddenly rush to me in the middle of the road, put his little arms around me, and kiss me, for which the whole crowd also had to stop; and though we were in a hurry, everybody stopped and waited for him to say good-bye to me. When I got on the train and it started off, they all shouted 'Hurrah!' to me and stood there for a long time, until the train was quite gone. I kept looking, too . . . Listen, when I came in here earlier and looked at your dear faces—I'm very attentive to faces now—and heard your first words, I felt light at heart for the first time since then. I thought maybe I really am one of the lucky ones: I know it's not easy to meet people you can love at once, yet I met you as soon as I got off the train. I know very well that it's shameful to talk about your feelings with everyone,

* Léon is going away, Léon is going away forever!

yet here I am talking with you, and with you I'm not ashamed. I'm unsociable and may not visit you for a long time. Don't take it as thinking ill: I'm not saying it because I don't value you, and you also mustn't think I've been offended in any way. You asked me about your faces and what I observe in them. I'll tell you with great pleasure. Yours, Adelaida Ivanovna, is a happy face, the most sympathetic of the three. Not only are you very pretty, but one looks at you and says: 'She has the face of a kind sister.' You approach things simply and cheerfully, but you are also quick to know hearts. That's what I think about your face. Yours, Alexandra Ivanovna, is also a beautiful and very sweet face, but you may have some secret sorrow; your soul is no doubt very kind, but you are not joyful. There is some special nuance in your face that reminds me of Holbein's Madonna in Dresden.²⁶ Well, that's for your face— am I a good guesser? You yourselves consider me one. But about your face, Lizaveta Prokofyevna," he suddenly turned to Mrs. Epanchin, "about your face I not only think but I'm certain that you are a perfect child, in everything, in everything, in everything good and in everything bad, despite your age. You're not angry that I say it? You do know my regard for children? And don't think it's out of simplicity that I've just spoken so candidly about your faces; oh, no, not at all! Maybe I, too, have something in mind."

VII

When the prince fell silent, they all looked at him gaily, even Aglaya, but especially Lizaveta Prokofyevna.

"Quite an examination!" she cried. "So, my dear ladies, you thought you were going to patronize him like a poor little thing, and he barely deigned to accept you, and that with the reservation that he would come only rarely. We've been made fools of—Ivan Fyodorovich most of all—and I'm glad. Bravo, Prince, we were told earlier to put you through an examination. And what you said about my face is all completely true: I am a child, and I know it. I knew it even before you said it; you precisely expressed my own thought in a single word. I think your character is completely identical to mine, and I'm very glad; like two drops of water. Only you're a man and I'm a woman, and I've never been to Switzerland, that's all the difference."

"Don't be in a hurry, maman" cried Aglaya, "the prince said he

had something special in mind in all his confessions, and he wasn't simply saying it."

"Yes, oh, yes," the others laughed.

"Don't tease him, my dears, he may be cleverer than all three of you put together. You'll see. Only why have you said nothing about Aglaya, Prince? Aglaya's waiting, and I am, too."

"I can't say anything now. I'll say it later."

"Why? She's noticeable, I believe?"

"Oh, yes, she's noticeable. You're an extraordinary beauty, Aglaya Ivanovna. You're so good-looking that one is afraid to look at you."

"That's all? And her qualities?" Mrs. Epanchin persisted.

"Beauty is difficult to judge; I'm not prepared yet. Beauty is a riddle."

"That means you've set Aglaya a riddle," said Adelaida. "Solve it, Aglaya. But she is good-looking, isn't she, Prince?"

"Extremely!" the prince replied warmly, with an enthusiastic glance at Aglaya. "Almost like Nastasya Filippovna, though her face is quite different ..."

They all exchanged astonished looks.

"Like who-o-om?" Mrs. Epanchin drew out. "Like Nastasya Filippovna? Where have you seen Nastasya Filippovna? What Nastasya Filippovna?"

"Gavrila Ardalionovich was just showing Ivan Fyodorovich her portrait."

"What? He brought Ivan Fyodorovich her portrait?"

"To show him. Today Nastasya Filippovna presented Gavrila Ardalionovich with her portrait, and he brought it to show."

"I want to see it!" Mrs. Epanchin heaved herself up. "Where is this portrait? If she gave it to him, he must have it, and, of course, he's still in the office! He always comes to work on Wednesdays and never leaves before four. Send for Gavrila Ardalionovich at once! No, I'm hardly dying to see him. Do me a favor, my dear Prince, go to the office, take the portrait from him, and bring it here. Tell him we want to look at it. Please."

"He's nice, but much too simple," said Adelaida, when the prince had gone.

"Yes, much too much," agreed Alexandra, "so that he's even slightly ridiculous."

It was as if neither had spoken her whole mind.

"However, with our faces he got out of it nicely," said Aglaya. "He flattered everyone, even maman."

"Don't be witty, please!" cried Mrs. Epanchin. "It was not he who flattered me, but I who was flattered."

"Do you think he was trying to get out of it?" asked Adelaida.

"I don't think he's so simple."

"Well, there she goes!" Mrs. Epanchin became angry. "And in my opinion you're even more ridiculous than he is. He's a bit simple, but he keeps his own counsel, in the most noble fashion, to be sure. Just as I do."