Текст книги "The Idiot"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
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The prince was very glad to be left alone at last; he went down
from the terrace, crossed the road, and entered the park; he wanted to think over and decide about a certain step. Yet this "step" was not one of those that can be thought over, but one of those that precisely cannot be thought over, but simply resolved upon: he suddenly wanted terribly to leave all this here and go back where he came from, to some far-off, forsaken place, to go at once and even without saying good-bye to anyone. He had the feeling that if he remained here just a few more days, he would certainly be drawn into this world irretrievably, and this world would henceforth be his lot. But he did not even reason for ten minutes and decided at once that to flee was "impossible," that it would be almost pusillanimous, that such tasks stood before him that he now did not even have any right not to resolve them, or at least not to give all his strength to their resolution. In such thoughts he returned home after barely a quarter of an hour's walk. He was utterly unhappy at that moment.
Lebedev was still not at home, so that towards nightfall Keller managed to barge in on the prince, not drunk, but full of outpourings and confessions. He declared straight out that he had come to tell the prince his whole life's story and that he had stayed in Pavlovsk just for that. There was not the slightest possibility of turning him out: he would not have gone for anything. Keller was prepared to talk very long and very incoherently, but suddenly at almost the first word he jumped ahead to the conclusion and declared that he had lost "any ghost of morality" ("solely out of disbelief in the Almighty"), so much so that he even stole. "If you can imagine that!"
"Listen, Keller, in your place I'd rather not confess it without some special need," the prince began, "and anyhow, maybe you're slandering yourself on purpose?"
"To you, solely to you alone, and solely so as to help my own development! Not to anybody else; I'll die and carry my secret off under the shroud! But, Prince, if you only knew, if you only knew how difficult it is to get money in our age! Where is a man to get it, allow me to ask after that? One answer: bring gold and diamonds, and we'll give you money for them—that is, precisely what I haven't got, can you imagine that? I finally got angry and just stood there. 'And for emeralds?' I say. 'For emeralds, too,' he says. 'Well, that's splendid,' I say, put on my hat, and walk out; devil take you, scoundrels! By God!"
"But did you really have emeralds?"
"What kind of emeralds could I have! Oh, Prince, your view of life is still so bright and innocent, and even, one might say, pastoral!"
The prince finally began to feel not so much sorry as a bit ashamed. The thought even flashed in him: "Wouldn't it be possible to make something of this man under someone's good influence?" His own influence, for certain reasons, he considered quite unsuitable—not out of self-belittlement, but owing to a certain special view of things. They gradually warmed to the conversation, so much so that they did not want to part. Keller confessed with extraordinary readiness to having done such things that it was impossible to imagine how one could tell about them. Starting out each time, he would positively insist that he was repentant and inwardly "filled with tears," and yet he would tell of his action as if he were proud of it, and at the same time occasionally in such a funny way that he and the prince would end up laughing like crazy.
"Above all, there is some childlike trustfulness and extraordinary honesty in you," the prince said at last. "You know, that by itself already redeems you greatly."
"I'm noble, noble, chivalrously noble!" Keller agreed with feeling. "But you know, Prince, it's all only in dreams and, so to speak, for bravado, and in reality nothing ever comes of it! Why is that? I can't understand it."
"Don't despair. Now it can be said affirmatively that you have told me all your inmost truths; at least it seems to me that it's now impossible to add anything more to what you've already said, isn't it?"
"Impossible?!" Keller exclaimed somehow ruefully. "Oh, Prince, you still have such a, so to speak, Swiss understanding of man."
"Could you possibly add to it?" the prince uttered in timid astonishment. "So what did you expect from me, Keller, tell me please, and why did you come with your confession?"
"From you? What did I expect? First, your simple-heartedness alone is pleasant to look at; it's pleasant to sit and talk with you; I know that I at least have a virtuous man before me, and second . . . second . . ."
He faltered.
"Perhaps you wanted to borrow some money?" the prince prompted him very seriously and simply, even as if somewhat timidly.
Keller jumped; he glanced quickly, with the same surprise, straight into the prince's eyes and banged his fist hard on the table.
"Well, see how you throw a man into a final flummox! For pity's sake, Prince: first such simple-heartedness, such innocence as even the golden age never heard of, then suddenly at the same time you pierce a man through like an arrow with this deepest psychology of observation. But excuse me, Prince, this calls for an explanation, because I . . . I'm simply confounded! Naturally, in the final end my aim was to borrow money, but you asked me about money as if you don't find anything reprehensible in it, as if that's how it should be?"
"Yes . . . from you that's how it should be."
"And you're not indignant?"
"But ... at what?"
"Listen, Prince, I stayed here last night, first, out of particular respect for the French archbishop Bourdaloue 45(we kept the corks popping at Lebedev's till three in the morning), but second, and chiefly (I'll cross myself with all crosses that I'm telling the real truth!), I stayed because I wanted, so to speak, by imparting to you my full, heartfelt confession, to contribute thereby to my own development; with that thought I fell asleep past three, bathed in tears. Now, if you'll believe the noblest of persons: at the very moment that I was falling asleep, sincerely filled with internal and, so to speak, external tears (because in the end I did weep, I remember that!), an infernal thought came to me: 'And finally, after the confession, why don't I borrow some money from him?' Thus I prepared my confession, so to speak, as a sort of 'finesherbes with tears,' to soften my path with these tears, so that you'd get mellow and count me out a hundred and fifty roubles. Isn't that mean, in your opinion?"
"It's probably also not true, and the one simply coincided with the other. The two thoughts coincided, it happens very often. With me, constantly. I don't think it's nice, however, and, you know, Keller, I reproach myself most of all for it. It's as if you had told me about myself just now. I've even happened to think sometimes," the prince went on very seriously, being genuinely and deeply interested, "that all people are like that, so that I even began to approve of myself, because it's very hard to resist these doublethoughts; I've experienced it. God knows how they come and get conceived. But here you've called it outright meanness! Now I'll begin to fear these thoughts again. In any case, I'm not your judge. But all the same, in my opinion, that can't be called outright meanness, don't you think? You used cunning in order to wheedle
money out of me by means of tears, but you swear yourself that your confession had another, noble purpose, not only money. As for the money, you need it to go carousing, right? After such a confession, that is, naturally, pusillanimous. But how, also, is one to give up carousing in a single moment? It's impossible. What then is to be done? Best of all is to leave it to your own conscience, don't you think?"
The prince looked at Keller with extreme curiosity. The question of double thoughts had evidently occupied him for a long time.
"Well, why they call you an idiot after that, I don't understand!" exclaimed Keller.
The prince blushed slightly.
"The preacher Bourdaloue wouldn't have spared a man, but you spared a man and reasoned about me in a human way! To punish myself and show that I'm touched, I don't want a hundred and fifty roubles, give me just twenty-five roubles, and enough! That's all I need for at least two weeks. I won't come for money before two weeks from now. I wanted to give Agashka a treat, but she doesn't deserve it. Oh, dear Prince, God bless you!"
Lebedev came in at last, having only just returned, and, noticing the twenty-five-rouble note in Keller's hand, he winced. But Keller, finding himself in possession of the money, hurried off and effaced himself immediately. Lebedev at once began talking him down.
"You're unfair, he was actually sincerely repentant," the prince observed at last.
"What good is his repentance! Exactly like me yesterday: 'mean, mean,' but it's all just words, sir!"
"So with you it was just words? And I thought . . ."
"Well, to you, to you alone I'll tell the truth, because you can see through a man: words, deeds, lies, truth—they're all there together in me and completely sincere. The truth and deeds in me are made up of sincere repentance, believe it or not, I'll swear to it, but the words and lies are made up of an infernal (and ever-present) notion, of somehow snaring a man here, too, of somehow profiting even from tears of repentance! By God, it's so! I wouldn't have told any other man—he'd laugh or spit; but you, Prince, you reason in a human way."
"There, now, that's exactly what he just said to me," cried the prince, "and it's as if you're both boasting! You even surprise me, only he's more sincere than you are, with you it's turned into a decided profession. Well, enough, don't wince, Lebedev, and don't
put your hands to your heart. Haven't you got something to tell me? You never come for nothing . . ."
Lebedev began grimacing and squirming.
"I've been waiting for you all day so as to ask you a single question; at least once in your life tell me the truth straight off: did you participate to any extent in that carriage yesterday or not?"
Lebedev again began grimacing, tittering, rubbing his hands, and finally went into a sneezing fit, but still could not bring himself to say anything.
"I see you did."
"But indirectly, only indirectly! It's the real truth I'm telling! I participated only by sending a timely message to a certain person, that such-and-such a company had gathered at my place and that certain persons were present."
"I know you sent your son there,he told me himself earlier, but what sort of intrigue is this!" the prince exclaimed in impatience.
"It's not my intrigue, not mine," Lebedev waved his hands, "others, others are in it, and it's sooner, so to speak, a fantasy than an intrigue."
"What is it about, explain to me, for Christ's sake? Don't you see that it concerns me directly? Evgeny Pavlych was blackened here."
"Prince! Illustrious Prince!" Lebedev squirmed again. "You don't let me speak the whole truth; I've already tried to tell you the truth; more than once; you wouldn't let me go on . . ."
The prince paused and pondered.
"Well, all right, speak the truth," he said heavily, obviously after a great struggle.
"Aglaya Ivanovna . . ." Lebedev began at once.
"Shut up, shut up!" the prince shouted furiously, turning all red with indignation and perhaps with shame. "It can't be, it's all nonsense! You thought it all up yourself, or some madmen like you. I never want to hear any more of it from you!"
Late at night, past ten o'clock, Kolya arrived with a whole bagful of news. His news was of a double sort: from Petersburg and from Pavlovsk. He quickly told the main Petersburg news (mostly about Ippolit and yesterday's story), in order to return to it later, and hastened on to the Pavlovsk news. Three hours ago he came back from Petersburg and, without stopping at the prince's, went straight to the Epanchins'. "Terrible goings-on there!" Naturally, the carriage was in the foreground, but something else had certainly
happened there, something unknown to him and the prince. "I naturally didn't spy and didn't want to ask questions; however, they received me well, better than I expected, but not a word about you, Prince!" The chiefest and most interesting thing was that Aglaya had quarreled with her family over Ganya. What the details of the matter were, he did not know, only it was over Ganya (imagine that!), and they had quarreled terribly, so it was something important. The general arrived late, arrived scowling, arrived with Evgeny Pavlovich, who was received excellently, and Evgeny Pavlovich himself was surprisingly merry and nice. The most capital news was that Lizaveta Prokofyevna, without any noise, sent for Varvara Ardalionovna, who was sitting with the girls, and threw her out of the house once and for all, in the most courteous way, incidentally—"I heard it from Varya herself." But when Varya left Lizaveta Prokofyevna and said good-bye to the girls, they did not even know that she had been denied the house once and for all and that she was saying good-bye to them for the last time.
"But Varvara Ardalionovna was here at seven o'clock," said the astonished prince.
"And she was thrown out before eight or at eight. I'm very sorry for Varya, sorry for Ganya ... no doubt it's their eternal intrigues, they can't do without them. And I've never been able to find out what they're planning, and don't want to know. But I assure you, my dear, my kind Prince, that Ganya has a heart. He's a lost man in many respects, of course, but in many respects there are qualities in him that are worth seeking out, and I'll never forgive myself for not understanding him before ... I don't know if I should go on now, after the story with Varya. True, I took a completely independent and separate stand from the very beginning, but all the same I must think it over."
"You needn't feel too sorry for your brother," the prince observed to him. "If things have come to that, it means that Gavrila Ardalionovich is dangerous in Lizaveta Prokofyevna's eyes, and that means that certain of his hopes are being affirmed."
"How, what hopes?" Kolya cried out in amazement. "You don't think Aglaya ... it can't be!"
The prince said nothing.
"You're a terrible skeptic, Prince," Kolya added after a couple of minutes. "I've noticed that since a certain time you've become an extreme skeptic; you're beginning not to believe anything and to
suppose everything . . . have I used the word 'skeptic' correctly in this case?"
"I think so, though, anyhow, I don't know for certain myself."
"But I myself am renouncing the word 'skeptic,' and have found a new explanation," Kolya suddenly cried. "You're not a skeptic, you're jealous! You're infernally jealous of Ganya over a certain proud girl!"
Having said this, Kolya jumped up and burst into such laughter as he may never have laughed before. Seeing the prince turn all red, Kolya laughed even harder: he was terribly pleased with the thought that the prince was jealous over Aglaya, but he fell silent at once when he noticed that the prince was sincerely upset. After that they spent another hour or hour and a half in serious and preoccupied conversation.
The next day the prince spent the whole morning in Petersburg on a certain urgent matter. Returning to Pavlovsk past four in the afternoon, he met Ivan Fyodorovich at the railway station. The latter quickly seized him by the arm, looked around as if in fright, and drew the prince with him to the first-class car, so that they could ride together. He was burning with the desire to discuss something important.
"First of all, my dear Prince, don't be angry with me, and if there was anything on my part—forget it. I'd have called on you yesterday, but I didn't know how Lizaveta Prokofyevna would ... At home . . . it's simply hell, a riddling sphinx has settled in with us, and I go about understanding nothing. As for you, I think you're the least to blame, though, of course, much of it came about through you. You see, Prince, to be a philanthropist is nice, but not very. You've probably tasted the fruits of it by now. I, of course, love kindness, and I respect Lizaveta Prokofyevna, but . . ."
The general went on for a long time in this vein, but his words were surprisingly incoherent. It was obvious that he had been shaken and greatly confused by something he found incomprehensible in the extreme.
"For me there's no doubt that you have nothing to do with it," he finally spoke more clearly, "but don't visit us for a while, I ask you as a friend, wait till the wind changes. As regards Evgeny Pavlych," he cried with extraordinary vehemence, "it's all senseless slander, a slander of slanders! It's calumny, there's some intrigue, a wish to destroy everything and make us quarrel. You see, Prince, I'm saying it in your ear: not a word has been said yet between us
and Evgeny Pavlych, understand? We're not bound by anything– but that word may be spoken, and even soon, perhaps even very soon! So this was done to harm that! But why, what for—I don't understand! An astonishing woman, an eccentric woman, I'm so afraid of her I can hardly sleep. And what a carriage, white horses, that's chic, that's precisely what the French call chic! Who from? By God, I sinned, I thought the other day it was Evgeny Pavlych. But it turns out that it can't be, and if it can't be, then why does she want to upset things? That's the puzzle! In order to keep Evgeny Pavlych for herself? But I repeat to you, cross my heart, that he's not acquainted with her, and those promissory notes are a fiction! And what impudence to shout 'dear' to him across the street! Sheer conspiracy! It's clear that we must reject it with contempt and double our respect for Evgeny Pavlych. That is what I told Lizaveta Prokofyevna. Now I'll tell you my most intimate thought: I'm stubbornly convinced that she's doing it to take personal revenge on me, remember, for former things, though I was never in any way guilty before her. I blush at the very recollection. Now she has reappeared again, and I thought she had vanished completely. Where's this Rogozhin sitting, pray tell? I thought shehad long been Mrs. Rogozhin . . ."
In short, the man was greatly bewildered. During the whole nearly hour-long trip he talked alone, asked questions, answered them himself, pressed the prince's hand, and convinced him of at least this one thing, that he had never thought of suspecting him of anything. For the prince that was important. He ended by telling about Evgeny Pavlych's uncle, the head of some office in Petersburg—"a prominent fellow, seventy years old, a viveur,a gastronome, and generally a whimsical old codger . . . Ha, ha! I know he heard about Nastasya Filippovna and even sought after her. I called on him yesterday, he didn't receive me, was unwell, but he's rich, rich and important, and . . . God grant him a long life, but all the same Evgeny Pavlych will get everything . . . Yes, yes . . . but even so I'm afraid! I don't know why, but I'm afraid ... As if something's hovering in the air, trouble flitting about like a bat, and I'm afraid, afraid! . . ."
And finally, only after three days, as we have already written above, came the formal reconciliation of the Epanchins with Prince Lev Nikolaevich.
XII
It was seven o'clock in the evening; the prince was about to go to the park. Suddenly Lizaveta Prokofyevna came to him on the terrace alone.
"First,don't you dare think," she began, "that I've come to ask your forgiveness. Nonsense! You're to blame all around."
The prince was silent.
"Are you to blame or not?"
"As much as you are. However, neither I, nor you, neither of us is to blame for anything deliberate. Two days ago I thought I was to blame, but now I've decided that it's not so."
"So that's how you are! Well, all right; listen then and sit down, because I have no intention of standing."
They both sat down.
"Second:not a word about those spiteful brats! I'll sit and talk with you for ten minutes; I've come to you with an inquiry (and you thought for God knows what?), and if you utter so much as a single word about those impudent brats, I'll get up and leave, and break with you altogether."
"Very well," replied the prince.
"Kindly allow me to ask you: about two and a half months ago, around Eastertime, did you send Aglaya a letter?"
"Y-yes."
"With what purpose? What was in the letter? Show me the letter!"
Lizaveta Prokofyevna's eyes were burning, she was almost shaking with impatience.
"I don't have the letter," the prince was terribly surprised and grew timid. "If it still exists, Aglaya Ivanovna has it."
"Don't dodge! What did you write about?"
"I'm not dodging, and I'm not afraid of anything. I see no reason why I shouldn't write . . ."
"Quiet! You can talk later. What was in the letter? Why are you blushing?"
The prince reflected.
"I don't know what you're thinking, Lizaveta Prokofyevna. I can only see that you dislike this letter very much. You must agree that I could refuse to answer such a question; but in order to show you
that I have no fear of this letter, and do not regret having written it, and am by no means blushing at it" (the prince blushed nearly twice as much as before), "I'll recite the letter for you, because I believe I know it by heart."
Having said this, the prince recited the letter almost word for word as it was written.
"Sheer galimatias! What might this nonsense mean, in your opinion?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna said sharply, listening to the letter with extraordinary attention.
"I don't quite know myself; I know that my feeling was sincere. I had moments of full life there and the greatest hopes."
"What hopes?"
"It's hard to explain, but they were not the hopes you may be thinking of now . . . well, they were hopes for the future and joy that thereI might not be a stranger, a foreigner. I suddenly liked my native land very much. One sunny morning I took up a pen and wrote a letter to her; why to her—I don't know. Sometimes one wants to have a friend nearby; I, too, evidently wanted to have a friend ..." the prince added after a pause.
"Are you in love, or what?"
"N-no. I ... I wrote as to a sister; I signed it as a brother."
"Hm. On purpose. I understand."
"I find it very painful to answer these questions for you, Lizaveta Prokofyevna."
"I know it's painful, but it's none of my affair that you find it painful. Listen, tell me the truth as before God: are you lying to me or not?"
"I'm not lying."
"It's true what you say, that you're not in love?"
"Perfectly true, it seems."
"Ah, you and your 'it seems'! Did that brat deliver it?"
"I asked Nikolai Ardalionovich . . ."
"The brat! The brat!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna interrupted with passion. "I don't know any Nikolai Ardalionovich! The brat!"
"Nikolai Ardalionovich . . ."
"The brat, I tell you!"
"No, not the brat, but Nikolai Ardalionovich," the prince finally answered, firmly though rather quietly.
"Well, all right, my dear, all right! I shall add that to your account."
For a moment she mastered her excitement and rested.
"And what is this 'poor knight'?"
"I have no idea; I wasn't there; it must be some kind of joke."
"Nice to find out all of a sudden! Only is it possible that she could become interested in you? She herself called you a 'little freak' and an 'idiot.'"
"You might have not told me that," the prince observed reproachfully, almost in a whisper.
"Don't be angry. She's a despotic, crazy, spoiled girl—if she falls in love, she'll certainly abuse the man out loud and scoff in his face; I was just the same. Only please don't be triumphant, dear boy, she's not yours; I won't believe it, and it will never be! I tell you so that you can take measures now. Listen, swear to me you're not married to that one."
"Lizaveta Prokofyevna, how can you, for pity's sake?" the prince almost jumped up in amazement.
"But you almost married her?"
"I almost did," the prince whispered and hung his head.
"So you're in love with her,is that it? You've come for hernow? For that one?"
"I haven't come to get married," replied the prince.
"Is there anything you hold sacred in this world?"
"There is."
"Swear to me that you haven't come to marry that one."
"I swear by whatever you like!"
"I believe you. Kiss me. At last I can breathe freely; but know this: Aglaya doesn't love you, take measures, and she won't be your wife as long as I live! Do you hear?"
"I hear."
The prince was blushing so much that he could not even look directly at Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
"Tie a string round your finger, then. I've been waiting for you as for Providence (you weren't worth it!), I drenched my pillow with tears at night—not over you, dear boy, don't worry, I have another grief of my own, eternal and ever the same. But here is why I waited for you so impatiently: I still believe that God himself sent you to me as a friend and a true brother. I have no one around me, except old Princess Belokonsky, and she, too, has flown away, and besides she's grown stupid as a sheep in her old age. Now answer me simply yesor no:do you know why sheshouted from her carriage two days ago?"
"On my word of honor, I had no part in it and know nothing!"
"Enough, I believe you. Now I also have different thoughts about it, but still yesterday, in the morning, I blamed Evgeny Pavlych for everything. Yesterday morning and the whole day before. Now, of course, I can't help agreeing with them: it's obvious that he was being laughed at like a fool for some reason, with some purpose, to some end (that in itself is suspicious! and also unseemly!)—but Aglaya won't be his wife, I can tell you that! Maybe he's a good man, but that's how it will be. I hesitated before, but now I've decided for certain: 'First put me in a coffin and bury me in the earth, then marry off my daughter,' that's what I spelled out to Ivan Fyodorovich today. You see that I trust you, don't you?"
"I see and I understand."
Lizaveta Prokofyevna gazed piercingly at the prince; it may be that she wanted very much to know what impression the news about Evgeny Pavlych had made on him.
"Do you know anything about Gavrila Ivolgin?"
"That is ... I know a lot."
"Do you or do you not know that he is in touch with Aglaya?"
"I had no idea," the prince was surprised and even gave a start. "So you say Gavrila Ardalionovich is in touch with Aglaya Ivanovna? It can't be!"
"Very recently. His sister spent all winter gnawing a path for him, working like a rat."
"I don't believe it," the prince repeated firmly after some reflection and agitation. "If it was so, I would certainly have known."
"No fear he'd come himself and confess it in tears on your breast! Ah, you simpleton, simpleton! Everybody deceives you like . . . like . . . Aren't you ashamed to trust him? Do you really not see that he's duped you all around?"
"I know very well that he occasionally deceives me," the prince said reluctantly in a low voice, "and he knows that I know it . . ." he added and did not finish.
"To know and to trust him! Just what you need! However, with you that's as it should be. And what am I surprised at? Lord! Has there ever been another man like this? Pah! And do you know that this Ganka or this Varka has put her in touch with Nastasya Filippovna?"
"Whom?!" exclaimed the prince.
"Aglaya."
"I don't believe it! It can't be! With what purpose?"
He jumped up from the chair.
"I don't believe it either, though there's evidence. She's a willful girl, a fantastic girl, a crazy girl! A wicked, wicked, wicked girl! For a thousand years I'll go on insisting that she's wicked! They're all that way now, even that wet hen Alexandra, but this one has already gotten completely out of hand. But I also don't believe it! Maybe because I don't want to believe it," she added as if to herself. "Why didn't you come?" she suddenly turned to the prince again. "Why didn't you come for all these three days?" she impatiently cried to him a second time.
The prince was beginning to give his reasons, but she interrupted him again.
"Everyone considers you a fool and deceives you! You went to town yesterday; I'll bet you got on your knees and begged that scoundrel to accept the ten thousand!"
"Not at all, I never thought of it. I didn't even see him, and, besides, he's not a scoundrel. I received a letter from him."
"Show me the letter!"
The prince took a note from his briefcase and handed it to Lizaveta Prokofyevna. The note read:
My dear sir,
I, of course, do not have the least right in people's eyes to have any self-love. In people's opinion, I am too insignificant for that. But that is in people's eyes, not in yours. I am only too convinced that you, my dear sir, are perhaps better than the others. I disagree with Doktorenko and part ways with him in this conviction. I will never take a single kopeck from you, but you have helped my mother, and for that I owe you gratitude, even though it comes from weakness. In any case, I look upon you differently and consider it necessary to let you know. And with that I assume there can be no further contacts between us.
Antip Burdovsky.
P.S. The rest of the two hundred roubles will be faithfully paid back to you in time.
"What a muddle!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna concluded, tossing the note back. "Not worth reading. What are you grinning at?"
"You must agree that you enjoyed reading it."
"What! This vanity-eaten galimatias! But don't you see they've all lost their minds from pride and vanity?"
"Yes, but all the same he apologized, he's broken with
Doktorenko, and the vainer he is, the dearer the cost to his vanity. Oh, what a little child you are, Lizaveta Prokofyevna!"
"Are you intent on getting a slap in the face from me finally, or what?"
"No, not at all. It's because you're glad of the note, but you conceal it. Why are you ashamed of your feelings? You're like that in everything."
"Don't you dare set foot in my house now," Lizaveta Prokofyevna jumped up, turning pale with wrath, "from now on I don't want to hear a peep from you ever again!"
