To the prince's amazement, she gave him a perplexed and questioning look, as if wishing to let him know that there could be no talk of the "poor knight" between them and that she did not even understand the question.

"But it's too late, it's too late to send to town for Pushkin now, too late!" Kolya argued with Lizaveta Prokofyevna, spending his last strength. "I've told you three thousand times, it's too late."

"Yes, actually, it's too late to send to town now," Evgeny Pavlovich turned up here as well, hastening away from Aglaya. "I think the shops are closed in Petersburg, it's past eight," he confirmed, taking out his watch.

"We've gone so long without thinking of it, we can wait till tomorrow," Adelaida put in.

"And it's also improper," Kolya added, "for high-society people

to be too interested in literature. Ask Evgeny Pavlovich. Yellow charabancs with red wheels are much more proper."

"You're talking out of a book again, Kolya," observed Adelaida.

"But he never talks otherwise than out of books," Evgeny Pavlovich picked up. "He expresses himself with whole sentences from critical reviews. I've long had the pleasure of knowing Nikolai Ardalionovich's conversation, but this time he's not talking out of a book. Nikolai Ardalionovich is clearly hinting at my yellow charabanc with red wheels. Only I've already traded it, you're too late."

The prince listened to what Radomsky was saying ... It seemed to him that he bore himself handsomely, modestly, cheerfully, and he especially liked the way he talked with such perfect equality and friendliness to Kolya, who kept provoking him.

"What's that?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna turned to Vera, Lebedev's daughter, who stood before her holding several books of a large format, beautifully bound and nearly new.

"Pushkin," said Vera. "Our Pushkin. Papa told me to offer it to you."

"How so? How is it possible?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna was surprised.

"Not as a gift, not as a gift! I wouldn't dare!" Lebedev popped out from behind his daughter's shoulder. "For what it cost, ma'am. It's our family Pushkin, Annenkov's edition,³² which is even impossible to find now—for what it cost, ma'am. I offer it to you with reverence, wishing to sell it and thereby satisfy the noble impatience of Your Excellency's most noble literary feelings."

"Ah, you're selling it, then I thank you. No fear of you not getting your own back. Only please do stop clowning, my dear. I've heard about you, they say you're very well read, we must have a talk some day; will you bring them home for me yourself?"

"With reverence and . . . deference!" Lebedev, extraordinarily pleased, went on clowning, snatching the books from his daughter.

"Well, just don't lose them on me, bring them without deference if you like, but only on one condition," she added, looking him over intently. "I'll let you come as far as the threshold, but I have no intention of receiving you today. Your daughter Vera you may send right now, though, I like her very much."

"Why don't you tell him about those men?" Vera asked her father impatiently. "They'll come in by themselves if you don't: they're already making noise. Lev Nikolaevich," she turned to the

prince, who had already picked up his hat, "some people came to see you quite a while ago now, four men, they're waiting in our part and they're angry, but papa won't let them see you."

"What sort of visitors?" asked the prince.

"On business, they say, only they're the kind that, if you don't let them in now, they'll stop you on your way. Better to let them in now, Lev Nikolaevich, and get them off your neck. Gavrila Ardalionovich and Ptitsyn are trying to talk sense into them, but they won't listen."

"Pavlishchev's son! Pavlishchev's son! Not worth it, not worth it!" Lebedev waved his arms. "It's not worth listening to them, sir; and it's not proper for you, illustrious Prince, to trouble yourself for them. That's right, sir. They're not worth it . . ."

"Pavlishchev's son! My God!" cried the prince in extreme embarrassment. "I know . . . but I ... I entrusted that affair to Gavrila Ardalionovich. Gavrila Ardalionovich just told me . . ."

But Gavrila Ardalionovich had already come out to the terrace; Ptitsyn followed him. In the nearest room noise could be heard, and the loud voice of General Ivolgin, as if he were trying to outshout several other voices. Kolya ran at once to where the noise was.

"That's very interesting," Evgeny Pavlovich observed aloud.

"So he knows about it!" thought the prince.

"What Pavlishchev's son? And . . . how can there be any Pavlishchev's son?" General Ivan Fyodorovich asked in perplexity, looking around curiously at all the faces and noticing with astonishment that this new story was unknown to him alone.

Indeed, the excitement and expectation were universal. The prince was deeply astonished that an affair so completely personal to himself could manage to interest everyone there so strongly.

"It would be very good if you ended this affair at once and yourself," said Aglaya, going up to the prince with some sort of special seriousness, "and let us all be your witnesses. They want to besmirch you, Prince, you must triumphantly vindicate yourself, and I'm terribly glad for you beforehand."

"I also want this vile claim to be ended finally," Mrs. Epanchin cried. "Give it to them good, Prince, don't spare them! I've had my ears stuffed with this affair, and there's a lot of bad blood in me on account of you. Besides, it will be curious to have a look. Call them out, and we'll sit here. Aglaya's idea was a good one. Have you heard anything about this, Prince?" she turned to Prince Shch.

"Of course I have, in your own house. But I'd especially like to have a look at these young men," Prince Shch. replied.

"These are those nihilists,³³ aren't they?"

"No, ma'am, they're not really nihilists," Lebedev, who was also all but trembling with excitement, stepped forward. "They're different, ma'am, they're special, my nephew says they've gone further than the nihilists. You mustn't think to embarrass them with your witnessing, Your Excellency; they won't be embarrassed. Nihilists are still sometimes knowledgeable people, even learned ones, but these have gone further, ma'am, because first of all they're practical. This is essentially a sort of consequence of nihilism, though not in a direct way, but by hearsay and indirectly, and they don't announce themselves in some sort of little newspaper article, but directly in practice, ma'am; it's no longer a matter, for instance, of the meaninglessness of some Pushkin or other, or, for instance, the necessity of dividing Russia up into parts; no, ma'am, it's now considered a man's right, if he wants something very much, not to stop at any obstacle, even if he has to do in eight persons to that end. But all the same, Prince, I wouldn't advise you . . ."

But the prince was already going to open the door for his visitors.

"You slander them, Lebedev," he said, smiling. "Your nephew has upset you very much. Don't believe him, Lizaveta Prokofyevna. I assure you that the Gorskys and Danilovs³⁴ are merely accidents, and these men are merely . . . mistaken . . . Only I wouldn't like it to be here, in front of everybody. Excuse me, Lizaveta Prokofyevna, they'll come in, I'll show them to you and then take them away. Come in, gentlemen!"