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“Why--is he here?”

“Excuse me, but I think you must have something else that you wished to speak
about, Evgenie Pavlovitch?”

“And yet you flush up as red as a rosebud! Come--it’s all right. I’m not going
to laugh at you. Do you know she is a very virtuous woman? Believe it or not, as
you like. You think she and Totski--not a bit of it, not a bit of it! Not for
ever so long! _Au revoir!_”

“I don’t think so, Ferdishenko; please be quiet,” answered Nastasia Philipovna
dryly.
“Not for the world, not for the world! I merely wish to make him ashamed of
himself. Oh, prince, great though this misfortune be to myself, I cannot help
thinking of his morals! I have a great favour to ask of you, esteemed prince; I
confess that it is the chief object of my visit. You know the Ivolgins, you have
even lived in their house; so if you would lend me your help, honoured prince,
in the general’s own interest and for his good.”

Alexandra, who had seemed to wish to put in her word when the prince began, now
sat silent, as though some sudden thought had caused her to change her mind
about speaking.

“And now you’ll have a million roubles, at least--goodness gracious me!”
exclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.

“Yes, I see and understand.”

“But perhaps we shall not be poor; we may be very rich, Nastasia Philipovna,”
continued the prince, in the same timid, quivering tones. “I don’t know for
certain, and I’m sorry to say I haven’t had an opportunity of finding out all
day; but I received a letter from Moscow, while I was in Switzerland, from a Mr.
Salaskin, and he acquaints me with the fact that I am entitled to a very large
inheritance. This letter--”
“I knew it was all a joke!” cried Adelaida. “I felt it ever since--since the
hedgehog.”

“Be silent! At once!” interrupted the prince, red with indignation, and perhaps
with shame, too. “It is impossible and absurd! All that has been invented by
you, or fools like you! Let me never hear you say a word again on that subject!”

“I have not much time for making acquaintances, as a rule,” said the general,
“but as, of course, you have your object in coming, I--”

“I beg your pardon, I--”

“Quite so, quite so. I only asked for information--excuse the question. Go on.”

“Afraid of _you?_” asked Aglaya, beside herself with naive amazement that the
other should dare talk to her like this.

Nina Alexandrovna came in, looking frightened. She had changed much since we
last saw her, half a year ago, and had grown thin and pale. Colia looked worried
and perplexed. He could not understand the vagaries of the general, and knew
nothing of the last achievement of that worthy, which had caused so much
commotion in the house. But he could see that his father had of late changed
very much, and that he had begun to behave in so extraordinary a fashion both at
home and abroad that he was not like the same man. What perplexed and disturbed
him as much as anything was that his father had entirely given up drinking
during the last few days. Colia knew that he had quarrelled with both Lebedeff
and the prince, and had just bought a small bottle of vodka and brought it home
for his father.

“Did no one awake me besides yourself? Was there no one else here? I thought
there was another woman.”

“Asleep--he’ll sleep for a couple of hours yet. I quite understand--you haven’t
slept--you walked about the park, I know. Agitation--excitement--all that sort
of thing--quite natural, too!”

“Then my mother opened the door and called my dog, Norma. Norma was a great
Newfoundland, and died five years ago.
Rogojin roared with laughter. He laughed as though he were in a sort of fit. It
was strange to see him laughing so after the sombre mood he had been in just
before. There is nothing so annoying as to be fairly rich, of a fairly good
family, pleasing presence, average education, to be “not stupid,” kind-hearted,
and yet to have no talent at all, no originality, not a single idea of one’s
own--to be, in fact, “just like everyone else.” “I am not exactly thanking you,
I am only feeling a growing admiration for you--it makes me happy to look at
you. I dare say I am speaking very foolishly, but I must speak--I must explain,
if it be out of nothing better than self-respect.”

“Oh, don’t, don’t!” she exclaimed in alarm, snatching her hand away. She went
hastily out of the room in a state of strange confusion.

“I knew you would not misunderstand me,” she said, triumphantly. “Prince S. and
Evgenie Pavlovitch and Alexandra don’t understand anything about these two kinds
of mind, but, just fancy, mamma does!”

“Not for the world, not for the world! I merely wish to make him ashamed of
himself. Oh, prince, great though this misfortune be to myself, I cannot help
thinking of his morals! I have a great favour to ask of you, esteemed prince; I
confess that it is the chief object of my visit. You know the Ivolgins, you have
even lived in their house; so if you would lend me your help, honoured prince,
in the general’s own interest and for his good.”

As for his red-nosed neighbour, the latter--since the information as to the
identity of Rogojin--hung over him, seemed to be living on the honey of his
words and in the breath of his nostrils, catching at every syllable as though it
were a pearl of great price.
The prince who, up to yesterday, would not have believed that he could even
dream of such an impossible scene as this, stood and listened and looked on, and
felt as though he had long foreseen it all. The most fantastic dream seemed
suddenly to have been metamorphosed into the most vivid reality.
Mrs. General Epanchin was a proud woman by nature. What must her feelings have
been when she heard that Prince Muishkin, the last of his and her line, had
arrived in beggar’s guise, a wretched idiot, a recipient of charity--all of
which details the general gave out for greater effect! He was anxious to steal
her interest at the first swoop, so as to distract her thoughts from other
matters nearer home.
The prince rose again, as if he would leave.

“Come, come! This is intolerable! You had better stop, you little
mischief-making wretch!” cried Varia. Gania had grown very pale; he trembled,
but said nothing.

Hearing these words from her husband, Lizabetha Prokofievna was driven beside
herself.
“And I’ve heard one!” said Adelaida. All three of the girls laughed out loud,
and the prince laughed with them.

“Hippolyte, Hippolyte, what is the matter with you?” cried Muishkin.

“_What?_” cried Mrs. Epanchin, raising her hands in horror. “_What’s_ that?”

“Has she never laughed at you?”

“There, he is feeling embarrassed; I expected as much,” whispered Evgenie
Pavlovitch suddenly in the prince’s ear. “It is a bad sign; what do you think?
Now, out of spite, he will come out with something so outrageous that even
Lizabetha Prokofievna will not be able to stand it.”

“Oho!” laughed the boy, “you can be nicer than that to _me_, you know--I’m not
Ptitsin!”

The prince trembled.

“Well, I don’t mind telling you the truth--you only! Because you see through a
man somehow. Words and actions, truth and falsehood, are all jumbled up together
in me, and yet I am perfectly sincere. I feel the deepest repentance, believe it
or not, as you choose; but words and lies come out in the infernal craving to
get the better of other people. It is always there--the notion of cheating
people, and of using my repentant tears to my own advantage! I assure you this
is the truth, prince! I would not tell any other man for the world! He would
laugh and jeer at me--but you, you judge a man humanely.”

He stood so for ten seconds, gazing at the prince, motionless, deadly pale, his
temples wet with perspiration; he held the prince’s hand in a strange grip, as
though afraid to let him go.

“You drunken moujik,” said Daria Alexeyevna, once more. “You ought to be kicked
out of the place.”

At last, with a sigh of annoyance, he said to himself that it was nothing but
his own cursed sickly suspicion. His face lighted up with joy when, at about two
o’clock, he espied the Epanchins coming along to pay him a short visit, “just
for a minute.” They really had only come for a minute.

Moved by this news, Lebedeff hurried up to the prince.

“Nothing. I only thought I--” “‘I believe,’ indeed! Did that mischievous urchin
give it to her?”
“And I also wish for justice to be done, once for all,” cried Madame Epanchin,
“about this impudent claim. Deal with them promptly, prince, and don’t spare
them! I am sick of hearing about the affair, and many a quarrel I have had in
your cause. But I confess I am anxious to see what happens, so do make them come
out here, and we will remain. You have heard people talking about it, no doubt?”
she added, turning to Prince S.

“Why, he wears an ‘order,’ and it looks so well!”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Gania; “but while we are upon the subject, let me
hear your opinion. Is all this worry worth seventy-five thousand or not?”
“Ho, ho! you are not nearly so simple as they try to make you out! This is not
the time for it, or I would tell you a thing or two about that beauty, Gania,
and his hopes. You are being undermined, pitilessly undermined, and--and it is
really melancholy to see you so calm about it. But alas! it’s your nature--you
can’t help it!”

During these last few years all three of the general’s daughters--Alexandra,
Adelaida, and Aglaya--had grown up and matured. Of course they were only
Epanchins, but their mother’s family was noble; they might expect considerable
fortunes; their father had hopes of attaining to very high rank indeed in his
country’s service--all of which was satisfactory. All three of the girls were
decidedly pretty, even the eldest, Alexandra, who was just twenty-five years
old. The middle daughter was now twenty-three, while the youngest, Aglaya, was
twenty. This youngest girl was absolutely a beauty, and had begun of late to
attract considerable attention in society. But this was not all, for every one
of the three was clever, well educated, and accomplished.

Arrived home again, the prince sent for Vera Lebedeff and told her as much as
was necessary, in order to relieve her mind, for she had been in a dreadful
state of anxiety since she had missed the letter. She heard with horror that her
father had taken it. Muishkin learned from her that she had on several occasions
performed secret missions both for Aglaya and for Rogojin, without, however,
having had the slightest idea that in so doing she might injure the prince in
any way. “I am very glad indeed to have met you here, Colia,” said the prince.
“Can you do something for me? I must see Nastasia Philipovna, and I asked
Ardalion Alexandrovitch just now to take me to her house, but he has gone to
sleep, as you see. Will you show me the way, for I do not know the street? I
have the address, though; it is close to the Grand Theatre.”
“Prince, you are not only simple, but your simplicity is almost past the limit,”
said Lebedeff’s nephew, with a sarcastic smile.
“That’s the beauty of it, general!”
“No, no! I have my reasons for wishing them not to suspect us of being engaged
in any specially important conversation. There are gentry present who are a
little too much interested in us. You are not aware of that perhaps, prince? It
will be a great deal better if they see that we are friendly just in an ordinary
way. They’ll all go in a couple of hours, and then I’ll ask you to give me
twenty minutes--half an hour at most.”

In point of fact it is quite possible that the matter would have ended in a very
commonplace and natural way in a few minutes. The undoubtedly astonished, but
now more collected, General Epanchin had several times endeavoured to interrupt
the prince, and not having succeeded he was now preparing to take firmer and
more vigorous measures to attain his end. In another minute or two he would
probably have made up his mind to lead the prince quietly out of the room, on
the plea of his being ill (and it was more than likely that the general was
right in his belief that the prince _was_ actually ill), but it so happened that
destiny had something different in store.

“Yours. You forbade me yourself to mention it before you, most excellent
prince,” murmured Lebedeff. Then, satisfied that he had worked up Muishkin’s
curiosity to the highest pitch, he added abruptly: “She is afraid of Aglaya
Ivanovna.”

The prince remained silent.

“Then how Schneider told me about my childish nature, and--”

“And what shall I tell him by way of answer?”

“Allow me, Mr. Ivolgin,” he said irritably. “What is the good of all this
rigmarole? Pardon me. All is now clear, and we acknowledge the truth of your
main point. Why go into these tedious details? You wish perhaps to boast of the
cleverness of your investigation, to cry up your talents as detective? Or
perhaps your intention is to excuse Burdovsky, by proving that he took up the
matter in ignorance? Well, I consider that extremely impudent on your part! You
ought to know that Burdovsky has no need of being excused or justified by you or
anyone else! It is an insult! The affair is quite painful enough for him without
that. Will nothing make you understand?”

She was evidently in difficulties as to how best to go on. “May I speak of
something serious to you, for once in my life?” she asked, angrily. She was
irritated at she knew not what, and could not restrain her wrath.