X.
AFTER moistening his lips with the tea which Vera Lebedeff
brought him, Hippolyte set the cup down on the table, and glanced
round. He seemed confused and almost at a loss.
"Just look, Lizabetha Prokofievna," he began, with a kind of
feverish haste; "these china cups are supposed to be extremely
valuable. Lebedeff always keeps them locked up in his china-
cupboard; they were part of his wife's dowry. Yet he has brought
them out tonight--in your honour, of course! He is so pleased--"
He was about to add something else, but could not find the words.
"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."
Muishkin looked at him inquiringly.
"You do not care if he does?" added Evgenie Pavlovitch. "Neither
do I; in fact, I should be glad, merely as a proper punishment
for our dear Lizabetha Prokofievna. I am very anxious that she
should get it, without delay, and I shall stay till she does. You
seem feverish."
"Never mind; by-and-by; yes, I am not feeling well," said the
prince impatiently, hardly listening. He had just heard Hippolyte
mention his own name.
"You don't believe it?" said the invalid, with a nervous laugh.
"I don't wonder, but the prince will have no difficulty in
believing it; he will not be at all surprised."
"Do you hear, prince--do you hear that?" said Lizabetha
Prokofievna, turning towards him.
There was laughter in the group around her, and Lebedeff stood
before her gesticulating wildly.
"He declares that your humbug of a landlord revised this
gentleman's article--the article that was read aloud just now--in
which you got such a charming dressing-down."
The prince regarded Lebedeff with astonishment.
"Why don't you say something?" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna,
stamping her foot.
"Well," murmured the prince, with his eyes still fixed on
Lebedeff, "I can see now that he did."
"Is it true?" she asked eagerly.
"Absolutely, your excellency," said Lebedeff, without the least
hesitation.
Mrs. Epanchin almost sprang up in amazement at his answer, and at
the assurance of his tone.
"He actually seems to boast of it!" she cried.
"I am base--base!" muttered Lebedeff, beating his breast, and
hanging his head.
"What do I care if you are base or not? He thinks he has only to
say, 'I am base,' and there is an end of it. As to you, prince,
are you not ashamed?--I repeat, are you not ashamed, to mix with
such riff-raff? I will never forgive you!"
"The prince will forgive me!" said Lebedeff with emotional
conviction.
Keller suddenly left his seat, and approached Lizabetha.
Prokofievna.
"It was only out of generosity, madame," he said in a resonant
voice, "and because I would not betray a friend in an awkward
position, that I did not mention this revision before; though you
heard him yourself threatening to kick us down the steps. To
clear the matter up, I declare now that I did have recourse to
his assistance, and that I paid him six roubles for it. But I did
not ask him to correct my style; I simply went to him for
information concerning the facts, of which I was ignorant to a
great extent, and which he was competent to give. The story of
the gaiters, the appetite in the Swiss professor's house, the
substitution of fifty roubles for two hundred and fifty--all such
details, in fact, were got from him. I paid him six roubles for
them; but he did not correct the style."
"I must state that I only revised the first part of the article,"
interposed Lebedeff with feverish impatience, while laughter rose
from all around him; "but we fell out in the middle over one
idea, so I never corrected the second part. Therefore I cannot be
held responsible for the numerous grammatical blunders in it."
"That is all he thinks of!" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.
"May I ask when this article was revised?" said Evgenie
Pavlovitch to Keller.
"Yesterday morning," he replied, "we had an interview which we
all gave our word of honour to keep secret."
"The very time when he was cringing before you and making
protestations of devotion! Oh, the mean wretches! I will have
nothing to do with your Pushkin, and your daughter shall not
set foot in my house!"
Lizabetha Prokofievna was about to rise, when she saw Hippolyte
laughing, and turned upon him with irritation.
"Well, sir, I suppose you wanted to make me look ridiculous?"
"Heaven forbid!" he answered, with a forced smile. "But I am more
than ever struck by your eccentricity, Lizabetha Prokofievna. I
admit that I told you of Lebedeff's duplicity, on purpose. I knew
the effect it would have on you,--on you alone, for the prince
will forgive him. He has probably forgiven him already, and is
racking his brains to find some excuse for him--is not that the
truth, prince?"
He gasped as he spoke, and his strange agitation seemed to
increase.
"Well?" said Mrs. Epanchin angrily, surprised at his tone; "well,
what more?"
"I have heard many things of the kind about you ...they
delighted me... I have learned to hold you in the highest
esteem," continued Hippolyte.
His words seemed tinged with a kind of sarcastic mockery, yet he
was extremely agitated, casting suspicious glances around him,
growing confused, and constantly losing the thread of his ideas.
All this, together with his consumptive appearance, and the
frenzied expression of his blazing eyes, naturally attracted the
attention of everyone present.
"I might have been surprised (though I admit I know nothing of
the world), not only that you should have stayed on just now in
the company of such people as myself and my friends, who are not
of your class, but that you should let these ... young ladies
listen to such a scandalous affair, though no doubt novel-reading
has taught them all there is to know. I may be mistaken; I hardly
know what I am saying; but surely no one but you would have
stayed to please a whippersnapper (yes, a whippersnapper; I admit
it) to spend the evening and take part in everything--only to be
ashamed of it tomorrow. (I know I express myself badly.) I
admire and appreciate it all extremely, though the expression on
the face of his excellency, your husband, shows that he thinks it
very improper. He-he!" He burst out laughing, and was seized with
a fit of coughing which lasted for two minutes and prevented him
from speaking.
"He has lost his breath now!" said Lizabetha Prokofievna coldly,
looking at him with more curiosity than pity: "Come, my dear boy,
that is quite enough--let us make an end of this."
Ivan Fedorovitch, now quite out of patience, interrupted
suddenly. "Let me remark in my turn, sir," he said in tones of
deep annoyance, "that my wife is here as the guest of Prince Lef
Nicolaievitch, our friend and neighbour, and that in any case,
young man, it is not for you to pass judgment on the conduct of
Lizabetha Prokofievna, or to make remarks aloud in my presence
concerning what feelings you think may be read in my face. Yes,
my wife stayed here," continued the general, with increasing
irritation, "more out of amazement than anything else. Everyone
can understand that a collection of such strange young men would
attract the attention of a person interested in contemporary
life. I stayed myself, just as I sometimes stop to look on in the
street when I see something that may be regarded as-as-as-"
"As a curiosity," suggested Evgenie Pavlovitch, seeing his
excellency involved in a comparison which he could not complete.
"That is exactly the word I wanted," said the general with
satisfaction--" a curiosity. However, the most astonishing and,
if I may so express myself, the most painful, thing in this
matter, is that you cannot even understand, young man, that
Lizabetha Prokofievna, only stayed with you because you are ill,
--if you really are dying--moved by the pity awakened by your
plaintive appeal, and that her name, character, and social
position place her above all risk of contamination. Lizabetha
Prokofievna!" he continued, now crimson with rage, "if you are
coming, we will say goodnight to the prince, and--"
"Thank you for the lesson, general," said Hippolyte, with
unexpected gravity, regarding him thoughtfully.
"Two minutes more, if you please, dear Ivan Fedorovitch," said
Lizabetha Prokofievna to her husband; "it seems to me that he is
in a fever and delirious; you can see by his eyes what a state he
is in; it is impossible to let him go back to Petersburg
tonight. Can you put him up, Lef Nicolaievitch? I hope you are not
bored, dear prince," she added suddenly to Prince S. "Alexandra,
my dear, come here! Your hair is coming down."
She arranged her daughter's hair, which was not in the least
disordered, and gave her a kiss. This was all that she had called
her for.
"I thought you were capable of development," said Hippolyte,
coming out of his fit of abstraction. "Yes, that is what I meant
to say," he added, with the satisfaction of one who suddenly
remembers something he had forgotten. "Here is Burdovsky,
sincerely anxious to protect his mother; is not that so? And he
himself is the cause of her disgrace. The prince is anxious to
help Burdovsky and offers him friendship and a large sum of
money, in the sincerity of his heart. And here they stand like
two sworn enemies--ha, ha, ha! You all hate Burdovsky because his
behaviour with regard to his mother is shocking and repugnant to
you; do you not? Is not that true? Is it not true? You all have a
passion for beauty and distinction in outward forms; that is all
you care for, isn't it? I have suspected for a long time that you
cared for nothing else! Well, let me tell you that perhaps there
is not one of you who loved your mother as Burdovsky loved his.
As to you, prince, I know that you have sent money secretly to
Burdovsky's mother through Gania. Well, I bet now," he continued
with an hysterical laugh, "that Burdovsky will accuse you of
indelicacy, and reproach you with a want of respect for his
mother! Yes, that is quite certain! Ha, ha, ha!"
He caught his breath, and began to cough once more.
"Come, that is enough! That is all now; you have no more to say?
Now go to bed; you are burning with fever," said Lizabetha
Prokofievna impatiently. Her anxious eyes had never left the
invalid. "Good heavens, he is going to begin again!"
"You are laughing, I think? Why do you keep laughing at me?" said
Hippolyte irritably to Evgenie Pavlovitch, who certainly was
laughing.
"I only want to know, Mr. Hippolyte--excuse me, I forget your
surname."
"Mr. Terentieff," said the prince.
"Oh yes, Mr. Terentieff. Thank you prince. I heard it just now,
but had forgotten it. I want to know, Mr. Terentieff, if what I
have heard about you is true. It seems you are convinced that if
you could speak to the people from a window for a quarter of an
hour, you could make them all adopt your views and follow you?"
"I may have said so," answered Hippolyte, as if trying to
remember. "Yes, I certainly said so," he continued with sudden
animation, fixing an unflinching glance on his questioner. "What
of it?"
"Nothing. I was only seeking further information, to put the
finishing touch."
Evgenie Pavlovitch was silent, but Hippolyte kept his eyes fixed
upon him, waiting impatiently for more.
"Well, have you finished?" said Lizabetha Prokofievna to Evgenie.
"Make haste, sir; it is time he went to bed. Have you more to
say?" She was very angry.
"Yes, I have a little more," said Evgenie Pavlovitch, with a
smile. "It seems to me that all you and your friends have said,
Mr. Terentieff, and all you have just put forward with such
undeniable talent, may be summed up in the triumph of right above
all, independent of everything else, to the exclusion of
everything else; perhaps even before having discovered what
constitutes the right. I may be mistaken?"
"You are certainly mistaken; I do not even understand you. What
else?"
Murmurs arose in the neighbourhood of Burdovsky and his
companions; Lebedeff's nephew protested under his breath.
"I have nearly finished," replied Evgenie Pavlovitch.
"I will only remark that from these premisses one could conclude
that might is right--I mean the right of the clenched fist, and of
personal inclination. Indeed, the world has often come to that
conclusion. Prudhon upheld that might is right. In the American
War some of the most advanced Liberals took sides with the
planters on the score that the blacks were an inferior race to
the whites, and that might was the right of the white race."
"Well?"
"You mean, no doubt, that you do not deny that might is right?"
"What then?"
"You are at least logical. I would only point out that from the
right of might, to the right of tigers and crocodiles, or even
Daniloff and Gorsky, is but a step."
"I know nothing about that; what else?"
Hippolyte was scarcely listening. He kept saying well?" and "what
else?" mechanically, without the least curiosity, and by mere
force of habit.
"Why, nothing else; that is all."
"However, I bear you no grudge," said Hippolyte suddenly, and,
hardly conscious of what he was doing, he held out his hand with
a smile. The gesture took Evgenie Pavlovitch by surprise, but
with the utmost gravity he touched the hand that was offered him
in token of forgiveness.
"I can but thank you," he said, in a tone too respectful to be
sincere, "for your kindness in letting me speak, for I have often
noticed that our Liberals never allow other people to have an
opinion of their own, and immediately answer their opponents with
abuse, if they do not have recourse to arguments of a still more
unpleasant nature."
"What you say is quite true," observed General Epanchin; then,
clasping his hands behind his back, he returned to his place on
the terrace steps, where he yawned with an air of boredom.
"Come, sir, that will do; you weary me," said Lizabetha
Prokofievna suddenly to Evgenie Pavlovitch.
Hippolyte rose all at once, looking troubled and almost
frightened.
"It is time for me to go," he said, glancing round in perplexity.
"I have detained you... I wanted to tell you everything... I
thought you all ... for the last time ... it was a whim..."
He evidently had sudden fits of returning animation, when he
awoke from his semi-delirium; then, recovering full self-
possession for a few moments, he would speak, in disconnected
phrases which had perhaps haunted him for a long while on his bed
of suffering, during weary, sleepless nights.
"Well, good-bye," he said abruptly. "You think it is easy for me
to say good-bye to you? Ha, ha!"
Feeling that his question was somewhat gauche, he smiled angrily.
Then as if vexed that he could not ever express what he really
meant, he said irritably, in a loud voice:
"Excellency, I have the honour of inviting you to my funeral;
that is, if you will deign to honour it with your presence. I
invite you all, gentlemen, as well as the general."
He burst out laughing again, but it was the laughter of a madman.
Lizabetha Prokofievna approached him anxiously and seized his
arm. He stared at her for a moment, still laughing, but soon his
face grew serious.
"Do you know that I came here to see those trees?" pointing to
the trees in the park. "It is not ridiculous, is it? Say that it
is not ridiculous!" he demanded urgently of Lizabetha
Prokofievna. Then he seemed to be plunged in thought. A moment
later he raised his head, and his eyes sought for someone. He was
looking for Evgenie Pavlovitch, who was close by on his right as
before, but he had forgotten this, and his eyes ranged over the
assembled company. "Ah! you have not gone!" he said, when he
caught sight of him at last. "You kept on laughing just now,
because I thought of speaking to the people from the window for a
quarter of an hour. But I am not eighteen, you know; lying on
that bed, and looking out of that window, I have thought of all
sorts of things for such a long time that ... a dead man has no
age, you know. I was saying that to myself only last week, when I
was awake in the night. Do you know what you fear most? You fear
our sincerity more than anything, although you despise us! The
idea crossed my mind that night... You thought I was making
fun of you just now, Lizabetha Prokofievna? No, the idea of
mockery was far from me; I only meant to praise you. Colia told
me the prince called you a child--very well--but let me see, I
had something else to say..." He covered his face with his
hands and tried to collect his thoughts.
"Ah, yes--you were going away just now, and I thought to myself:
'I shall never see these people again-never again! This is the
last time I shall see the trees, too. I shall see nothing after
this but the red brick wall of Meyer's house opposite my window.
Tell them about it--try to tell them,' I thought. 'Here is a
beautiful young girl--you are a dead man; make them understand
that. Tell them that a dead man may say anything--and Mrs. Grundy
will not be angry--ha-ha! You are not laughing?" He looked
anxiously around. "But you know I get so many queer ideas, lying
there in bed. I have grown convinced that nature is full of
mockery--you called me an atheist just now, but you know this
nature ... why are you laughing again? You are very cruel!" he
added suddenly, regarding them all with mournful reproach. "I
have not corrupted Colia," he concluded in a different and very
serious tone, as if remembering something again.
"Nobody here is laughing at you. Calm yourself" said Lizabetha
Prokofievna, much moved. "You shall see a new doctor tomorrow;
the other was mistaken; but sit down, do not stand like that! You
are delirious--Oh, what shall we do with him she cried in
anguish, as she made him sit down again in the arm-chair.
A tear glistened on her cheek. At the sight of it Hippolyte
seemed amazed. He lifted his hand timidly and, touched the tear
with his finger, smiling like a child.
"I ... you," he began joyfully. "You cannot tell how I ... he
always spoke so enthusiastically of you, Colia here; I liked his
enthusiasm. I was not corrupting him! But I must leave him, too--
I wanted to leave them all--there was not one of them--not one! I
wanted to be a man of action--I had a right to be. Oh! what a
lot of things I wanted! Now I want nothing; I renounce all my
wants; I swore to myself that I would want nothing; let them seek
the truth without me! Yes, nature is full of mockery! Why"--he
continued with sudden warmth--"does she create the choicest
beings only to mock at them? The only human being who is
recognized as perfect, when nature showed him to mankind, was
given the mission to say things which have caused the shedding of
so much blood that it would have drowned mankind if it had all
been shed at once! Oh! it is better for me to die! I should tell
some dreadful lie too; nature would so contrive it! I have
corrupted nobody. I wanted to live for the happiness of all men,
to find and spread the truth. I used to look out of my window at
the wall of Meyer's house, and say to myself that if I could
speak for a quarter of an hour I would convince the whole world,
and now for once in my life I have come into contact with ...
you--if not with the others! And what is the result? Nothing! The
sole result is that you despise me! Therefore I must be a fool, I
am useless, it is time I disappeared! And I shall leave not even
a memory! Not a sound, not a trace, not a single deed! I have not
spread a single truth! ... Do not laugh at the fool! Forget
him! Forget him forever! I beseech you, do not be so cruel as to
remember! Do you know that if I were not consumptive, I would
kill myself?"
Though he seemed to wish to say much more, he became silent. He
fell back into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands,
began to sob like a little child.
"Oh! what on earth are we to do with him?" cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna. She hastened to him and pressed his head against her
bosom, while he sobbed convulsively.
"Come, come, come! There, you must not cry, that will do. You are
a good child! God will forgive you, because you knew no better.
Come now, be a man! You know presently you will be ashamed."
Hippolyte raised his head with an effort, saying:
"I have little brothers and sisters, over there, poor avid
innocent. She will corrupt them! You are a saint! You are a child
yourself--save them! Snatch them from that ... she is ... it
is shameful! Oh! help them! God will repay you a hundredfold. For
the love of God, for the love of Christ!"
"Speak, Ivan Fedorovitch! What are we to do?" cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna, irritably. "Please break your majestic silence! I
tell you, if you cannot come to some decision, I will stay here
all night myself. You have tyrannized over me enough, you
autocrat!"
She spoke angrily, and in great excitement, and expected an
immediate reply. But in such a case, no matter how many are
present, all prefer to keep silence: no one will take the
initiative, but all reserve their comments till afterwards. There
were some present--Varvara Ardalionovna, for instance--who would
have willingly sat there till morning without saying a word.
Varvara had sat apart all the evening without opening her lips,
but she listened to everything with the closest attention;
perhaps she had her reasons for so doing.
"My dear," said the general, "it seems to me that a sick-nurse
would be of more use here than an excitable person like you.
Perhaps it would be as well to get some sober, reliable man for
the night. In any case we must consult the prince, and leave the
patient to rest at once. Tomorrow we can see what can be done
for him."
"It is nearly midnight; we are going. Will he come with us, or is
he to stay here?" Doktorenko asked crossly of the prince.
"You can stay with him if you like," said Muishkin.
"There is plenty of room here."
Suddenly, to the astonishment of all, Keller went quickly up to
the general.
"Excellency," he said, impulsively, "if you want a reliable man
for the night, I am ready to sacrifice myself for my friend--such
a soul as he has! I have long thought him a great man,
excellency! My article showed my lack of education, but when he
criticizes he scatters pearls!"
Ivan Fedorovitch turned from the boxer with a gesture of despair.
"I shall be delighted if he will stay; it would certainly be
difficult for him to get back to Petersburg," said the prince, in
answer to the eager questions of Lizabetha Prokofievna.
"But you are half asleep, are you not? If you don't want him, I
will take him back to my house! Why, good gracious! He can hardly
stand up himself! What is it? Are you ill?"
Not finding the prince on his death-bed, Lizabetha Prokofievna
had been misled by his appearance to think him much better than
he was. But his recent illness, the painful memories attached to
it, the fatigue of this evening, the incident with "Pavlicheff's
son," and now this scene with Hippolyte, had all so worked on his
oversensitive nature that he was now almost in a fever. Moreover,
anew trouble, almost a fear, showed itself in his eyes; he
watched Hippolyte anxiously as if expecting something further.
Suddenly Hippolyte arose. His face, shockingly pale, was that of
a man overwhelmed with shame and despair. This was shown chiefly
in the look of fear and hatred which he cast upon the assembled
company, and in the wild smile upon his trembling lips. Then he
cast down his eyes, and with the same smile, staggered towards
Burdovsky and Doktorenko, who stood at the entrance to the
verandah. He had decided to go with them.
"There! that is what I feared!" cried the prince. "It was
inevitable!"
Hippolyte turned upon him, a prey to maniacal rage, which set all
the muscles of his face quivering.
"Ah! that is what you feared! It was inevitable, you say! Well,
let me tell you that if I hate anyone here--I hate you all," he
cried, in a hoarse, strained voice-" but you, you, with your
jesuitical soul, your soul of sickly sweetness, idiot, beneficent
millionaire--I hate you worse than anything or anyone on earth! I
saw through you and hated you long ago; from the day I first
heard of you. I hated you with my whole heart. You have contrived
all this! You have driven me into this state! You have made a
dying man disgrace himself. You, you, you are the cause of my
abject cowardice! I would kill you if I remained alive! I do not
want your benefits; I will accept none from anyone; do you hear?
Not from any one! I want nothing! I was delirious, do not dare to
triumph! I curse every one of you, once for all!"
Breath failed him here, and he was obliged to stop.
"He is ashamed of his tears!" whispered Lebedeff to Lizabetha
Prokofievna. "It was inevitable. Ah! what a wonderful man the
prince is! He read his very soul."
But Mrs. Epanchin would not deign to look at Lebedeff. Drawn up
haughtily, with her head held high, she gazed at the "riff-raff,"
with scornful curiosity. When Hippolyte had finished, Ivan
Fedorovitch shrugged his shoulders, and his wife looked him
angrily up and down, as if to demand the meaning of his movement.
Then she turned to the prince.
"Thanks, prince, many thanks, eccentric friend of the family, for
the pleasant evening you have provided for us. I am sure you are
quite pleased that you have managed to mix us up with your
extraordinary affairs. It is quite enough, dear family friend;
thank you for giving us an opportunity of getting to know you so
well."
She arranged her cloak with hands that trembled with anger as she
waited for the "riff-raff "to go. The cab which Lebedeff's son
had gone to fetch a quarter of an hour ago, by Doktorenko's
order, arrived at that moment. The general thought fit to put in
a word after his wife.
"Really, prince, I hardly expected after--after all our friendly
intercourse-- and you see, Lizabetha Prokofievna--"
"Papa, how can you?" cried Adelaida, walking quickly up to the
prince and holding out her hand.
He smiled absently at her; then suddenly he felt a burning
sensation in his ear as an angry voice whispered:
"If you do not turn those dreadful people out of the house this
very instant, I shall hate you all my life--all my life!" It was
Aglaya. She seemed almost in a frenzy, but she turned away before
the prince could look at her. However, there was no one left to
turn out of the house, for they had managed meanwhile to get
Hippolyte into the cab, and it had driven off.
"Well, how much longer is this going to last, Ivan Fedorovitch?
What do you think? Shall I soon be delivered from these odious
youths?"
"My dear, I am quite ready; naturally ... the prince."
Ivan Fedorovitch held out his hand to Muishkin, but ran after his
wife, who was leaving with every sign of violent indignation,
before he had time to shake it. Adelaida, her fiance, and
Alexandra, said good-bye to their host with sincere friendliness.
Evgenie Pavlovitch did the same, and he alone seemed in good
spirits.
"What I expected has happened! But I am sorry, you poor fellow,
that you should have had to suffer for it," he murmured, with a
most charming smile.
Aglaya left without saying good-bye. But the evening was not to
end without a last adventure. An unexpected meeting was yet in
store for Lizabetha Prokofievna.
She had scarcely descended the terrace steps leading to the high
road that skirts the park at Pavlofsk, when suddenly there dashed
by a smart open carriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful white
horses. Having passed some ten yards beyond the house, the
carriage suddenly drew up, and one of the two ladies seated in it
turned sharp round as though she had just caught sight of some
acquaintance whom she particularly wished to see.
"Evgenie Pavlovitch! Is that you?" cried a clear, sweet voice,
which caused the prince, and perhaps someone else, to tremble.
"Well, I AM glad I've found you at last! I've sent to town for
you twice today myself! My messengers have been searching for
you everywhere!"
Evgenie Pavlovitch stood on the steps like one struck by
lightning. Mrs. Epanchin stood still too, but not with the
petrified expression of Evgenie. She gazed haughtily at the
audacious person who had addressed her companion, and then turned
a look of astonishment upon Evgenie himself.
"There's news!" continued the clear voice. "You need not be
anxious about Kupferof's IOU's--Rogojin has bought them up. I
persuaded him to!--I dare say we shall settle Biscup too, so it's
all right, you see! Au revoir, tomorrow! And don't worry!" The
carriage moved on, and disappeared.
"The woman's mad!" cried Evgenie, at last, crimson with anger,
and looking confusedly around. "I don't know what she's talking
about! What IOU's? Who is she?" Mrs. Epanchin continued to watch
his face for a couple of seconds; then she marched briskly and
haughtily away towards her own house, the rest following her.
A minute afterwards, Evgenie Pavlovitch reappeared on the
terrace, in great agitation.
"Prince," he said, "tell me the truth; do you know what all this
means?"
"I know nothing whatever about it!" replied the latter, who was,
himself, in a state of nervous excitement.
"No?"
"No?
"Well, nor do I!" said Evgenie Pavlovitch, laughing suddenly. "I
haven't the slightest knowledge of any such IOU's as she
mentioned, I swear I haven't--What's the matter, are you
fainting?"
"Oh, no-no-I'm all right, I assure you!"
