"He's on his deathbed," Lizaveta Prokofyevna said, bustling about, "and we are not going to stand on any ceremony! Is he a friend of our house or not?"

"Still, you should look before you leap," Aglaya observed.

"Don't go, then, it will even be better: Evgeny Pavlych will come and there will be no one to receive him."

After these words Aglaya naturally set out at once after them all, as she had intended to do in any event. Prince Shch., who was sitting with Adelaida, at her request immediately agreed to accompany the ladies. Still earlier, at the beginning of his acquaintance with the Epanchins, he had been extremely interested when he heard about the prince from them. It turned out that he was acquainted with him, that they had become acquainted not long ago and had lived together for a couple of weeks in the same little town. That was about three months ago. Prince Shch. had even told them a good deal about the prince and generally spoke of him with great sympathy, so that now it was with genuine pleasure that he went to visit his old acquaintance. General Ivan Fyodorovich was not at home at the time. Evgeny Pavlovich also had not arrived yet.

Lebedev's dacha was no more than three hundred paces from the Epanchins'. Lizaveta Prokofyevna's first unpleasant impression at the prince's was to find him surrounded by a whole company of guests, not to mention that she decidedly hated two or three persons in that company; the second was her surprise at the sight of the completely healthy-looking, smartly dressed, and laughing young man coming to meet them, instead of a dying man on his deathbed, as she had expected to find him. She even stopped in

perplexity, to the extreme delight of Kolya, who, of course, could have explained perfectly well, before she set off from her dacha, that precisely no one was dying, nor was there any deathbed, but who had not done so, slyly anticipating Mrs. Epanchin's future comic wrath when, as he reckoned, she was bound to get angry at finding the prince, her sincere friend, in good health. Kolya was even so indelicate as to utter his surmise aloud, to definitively annoy Lizaveta Prokofyevna, whom he needled constantly and sometimes very maliciously, despite the friendship that bound them.

"Wait, my gentle sir, don't be in such a hurry, don't spoil your triumph!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna replied, settling into the armchair that the prince offered her.

Lebedev, Ptitsyn, and General Ivolgin rushed to offer chairs to the girls. The general offered Aglaya a chair. Lebedev also offered a chair to Prince Shch., even the curve of his back managing to show an extraordinary deference. Varya and the girls exchanged greetings, as usual, with rapture and whispering.

"It's true, Prince, that I thought to find you all but bedridden, so greatly did I exaggerate in my worry, and—I wouldn't lie for anything—I felt terribly vexed just now at your happy face, but, by God, it was only for a moment, till I had time to reflect. When I reflect, I always act and speak more intelligently; you do, too, I suppose. But to speak truly, I might be less glad of my own son's recovery, if I had one, than I am of yours; and if you don't believe me about that, the shame is yours, not mine. And this malicious brat allows himself even worse jokes with me. He seems to be your protégé; so I'm warning you that one fine day, believe me, I shall renounce the further satisfaction of enjoying the honor of his acquaintance."

"What fault is it of mine?" Kolya shouted. "However much I insisted that the prince was almost well now, you'd have refused to believe it, because it was far more interesting to imagine him on his deathbed."

"Will you be staying with us long?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna turned to the prince.

"The whole summer, and perhaps longer."

"And you're alone? Not married?"

"No, not married," the prince smiled at the naivety of the barb sent his way.

"You've no reason to smile; it does happen. I was referring to

the dacha. Why didn't you come to stay with us? We have a whole wing empty; however, as you wish. Do you rent it from him? This one?" she added in a half-whisper, nodding towards Lebedev. "Why is he grimacing all the time?"

Just then Vera came outside to the terrace, with the baby in her arms as usual. Lebedev, who had been cringing by the chairs, decidedly unable to figure out what to do with himself but terribly reluctant to leave, suddenly fell upon Vera, waved his arms at her to chase her from the terrace, and, forgetting himself, even stamped his feet at her.

"Is he crazy?" Mrs. Epanchin suddenly added.

"No, he ..."

"Drunk, maybe? It's not pretty company you keep," she snapped, taking in the remaining guests at a glance. "What a sweet girl, though! Who is she?"

"That's Vera Lukyanovna, the daughter of this Lebedev."

"Ah! . . . Very sweet. I want to make her acquaintance."

But Lebedev, who had heard Lizaveta Prokofyevna's praises, was already dragging his daughter closer in order to introduce her.

"Orphans, orphans!" he dissolved, approaching. "And this baby in her arms is an orphan, her sister, my daughter Lyubov, born in most lawful wedlock of the newly departed Elena, my wife, who died six weeks ago in childbed, as it pleased the Lord . . . yes, sir ... in place of a mother, though she's only a sister and no more than a sister ... no more, no more . . ."

"And you, my dear, are no more than a fool, forgive me. Well, enough, I suppose you realize that yourself," Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly snapped in extreme indignation.

"The veritable truth!" Lebedev bowed most respectfully and deeply.

"Listen, Mr. Lebedev, is it true what they say of you, that you interpret the Apocalypse?" asked Aglaya.

"The veritable truth . . . fifteen years now."

"I've heard of you. They wrote about you in the newspapers, I believe?"

"No, that was about another interpreter, another one, ma'am, but that one died, and I remained instead of him," said Lebedev, beside himself with joy.

"Do me a favor, explain it to me one of these days, since we're neighbors. I understand nothing in the Apocalypse."

"I can't help warning you, Aglaya Ivanovna, that it's all mere

charlatanism on his part, believe me," General Ivolgin, who had been waiting as if on pins and needles and wished with all his might to somehow start a conversation, suddenly put in quickly. He sat down beside Aglaya Ivanovna. "Of course, dacha life has its rights," he went on, "and its pleasures, and the method of such an extraordinary used to carry you in my arms, Aglaya Ivanovna."intrus* for interpreting the Apocalypse is an undertaking like any other, and even a remarkably intelligent undertaking, but I ... It seems you are looking at me in astonishment? General Ivolgin, I have the honor of introducing myself I

"Delighted. I know Varvara Ardalionovna and Nina Alexandrovna," Aglaya murmured, trying as hard as she could to keep from bursting out laughing.

Lizaveta Prokofyevna flared up. Something that had long been accumulating in her soul suddenly demanded to be let out. She could not stand General Ivolgin, with whom she had once been acquainted, but very long ago.

"You're lying, my dear, as usual, you never carried her in your arms," she snapped at him indignantly.

"You've forgotten, maman, he really did, in Tver," Aglaya suddenly confirmed. "We lived in Tver then. I was six years old, I remember. He made me a bow and arrow, and taught me how to shoot, and I killed a pigeon. Remember, you and I killed a pigeon together?"