XI.
THE anger of the Epanchin family was unappeased for three days.
As usual the prince reproached himself, and had expected
punishment, but he was inwardly convinced that Lizabetha
Prokofievna could not be seriously angry with him, and that she
probably was more angry with herself. He was painfully surprised,
therefore, when three days passed with no word from her. Other
things also troubled and perplexed him, and one of these grew
more important in his eyes as the days went by. He had begun to
blame himself for two opposite tendencies--on the one hand to
extreme, almost "senseless," confidence in his fellows, on the
other to a "vile, gloomy suspiciousness."
By the end of the third day the incident of the eccentric lady
and Evgenie Pavlovitch had attained enormous and mysterious
proportions in his mind. He sorrowfully asked himself whether he
had been the cause of this new "monstrosity," or was it ... but
he refrained from saying who else might be in fault. As for the
letters N.P.B., he looked on that as a harmless joke, a mere
childish piece of mischief--so childish that he felt it would be
shameful, almost dishonourable, to attach any importance to it.
The day after these scandalous events, however, the prince had
the honour of receiving a visit from Adelaida and her fiance,
Prince S. They came, ostensibly, to inquire after his health.
They had wandered out for a walk, and called in "by accident,"
and talked for almost the whole of the time they were with him
about a certain most lovely tree in the park, which Adelaida had
set her heart upon for a picture. This, and a little amiable
conversation on Prince S.'s part, occupied the time, and not a
word was said about last evening's episodes. At length Adelaida
burst out laughing, apologized, and explained that they had come
incognito; from which, and from the circumstance that they said
nothing about the prince's either walking back with them or
coming to see them later on, the latter inferred that he was in
Mrs. Epanchin's black books. Adelaida mentioned a watercolour
that she would much like to show him, and explained that she
would either send it by Colia, or bring it herself the next day--
which to the prince seemed very suggestive.
At length, however, just as the visitors were on the point of
departing, Prince S. seemed suddenly to recollect himself. "Oh
yes, by-the-by," he said, "do you happen to know, my dear Lef
Nicolaievitch, who that lady was who called out to Evgenie
Pavlovitch last night, from the carriage?"
"It was Nastasia Philipovna," said the prince; "didn't you know
that? I cannot tell you who her companion was."
"But what on earth did she mean? I assure you it is a real riddle
to me--to me, and to others, too!" Prince S. seemed to be under
the influence of sincere astonishment.
"She spoke of some bills of Evgenie Pavlovitch's," said the
prince, simply, "which Rogojin had bought up from someone; and
implied that Rogojin would not press him."
"Oh, I heard that much, my dear fellow! But the thing is so
impossibly absurd! A man of property like Evgenie to give IOU's
to a money-lender, and to be worried about them! It is
ridiculous. Besides, he cannot possibly be on such intimate terms
with Nastasia Philipovna as she gave us to understand; that's the
principal part of the mystery! He has given me his word that he
knows nothing whatever about the matter, and of course I believe
him. Well, the question is, my dear prince, do you know anything
about it? Has any sort of suspicion of the meaning of it come
across you?"
"No, I know nothing whatever about it. I assure you I had nothing
at all to do with it."
"Oh, prince, how strange you have become! I assure you, I hardly
know you for your old self. How can you suppose that I ever
suggested you could have had a finger in such a business? But you
are not quite yourself today, I can see." He embraced the
prince, and kissed him.
"What do you mean, though," asked Muishkin, "'by such a
business'? I don't see any particular 'business' about it at
all!"
"Oh, undoubtedly, this person wished somehow, and for some
reason, to do Evgenie Pavlovitch a bad turn, by attributing to
him--before witnesses--qualities which he neither has nor can
have," replied Prince S. drily enough.
Muiskhin looked disturbed, but continued to gaze intently and
questioningly into Prince S.'s face. The latter, however,
remained silent.
"Then it was not simply a matter of bills?" Muishkin said at
last, with some impatience. "It was not as she said?"
"But I ask you, my dear sir, how can there be anything in common
between Evgenie Pavlovitch, and--her, and again Rogojin? I tell
you he is a man of immense wealth--as I know for a fact; and he
has further expectations from his uncle. Simply Nastasia
Philipovna--"
Prince S. paused, as though unwilling to continue talking about
Nastasia Philipovna.
"Then at all events he knows her!" remarked the prince, after a
moment's silence.
"Oh, that may be. He may have known her some time ago--two or
three years, at least. He used to know Totski. But it is
impossible that there should be any intimacy between them. She
has not even been in the place--many people don't even know that
she has returned from Moscow! I have only observed her carriage
about for the last three days or so."
"It's a lovely carriage," said Adelaida.
"Yes, it was a beautiful turn-out, certainly!"
The visitors left the house, however, on no less friendly terms
than before. But the visit was of the greatest importance to the
prince, from his own point of view. Admitting that he had his
suspicions, from the moment of the occurrence of last night,
perhaps even before, that Nastasia had some mysterious end in
view, yet this visit confirmed his suspicions and justified his
fears. It was all clear to him; Prince S. was wrong, perhaps, in
his view of the matter, but he was somewhere near the truth, and
was right in so far as that he understood there to be an intrigue
of some sort going on. Perhaps Prince S. saw it all more clearly
than he had allowed his hearers to understand. At all events,
nothing could be plainer than that he and Adelaida had come for
the express purpose of obtaining explanations, and that they
suspected him of being concerned in the affair. And if all this
were so, then SHE must have some terrible object in view! What
was it? There was no stopping HER, as Muishkin knew from
experience, in the performance of anything she had set her mind
on! "Oh, she is mad, mad!" thought the poor prince.
But there were many other puzzling occurrences that day, which
required immediate explanation, and the prince felt very sad. A
visit from Vera Lebedeff distracted him a little. She brought the
infant Lubotchka with her as usual, and talked cheerfully for
some time. Then came her younger sister, and later the brother,
who attended a school close by. He informed Muishkin that his
father had lately found a new interpretation of the star called
"wormwood," which fell upon the water-springs, as described in
the Apocalypse. He had decided that it meant the network of
railroads spread over the face of Europe at the present time. The
prince refused to believe that Lebedeff could have given such an
interpretation, and they decided to ask him about it at the
earliest opportunity. Vera related how Keller had taken up his
abode with them on the previous evening. She thought he would
remain for some time, as he was greatly pleased with the society
of General Ivolgin and of the whole family. But he declared that
he had only come to them in order to complete his education!
The prince always enjoyed the company of Lebedeff's children, and
today it was especially welcome, for Colia did not appear all
day. Early that morning he had started for Petersburg. Lebedeff
also was away on business. But Gavrila Ardalionovitch had
promised to visit Muishkin, who eagerly awaited his coming.
About seven in the evening, soon after dinner, he arrived. At the
first glance it struck the prince that he, at any rate, must know
all the details of last night's affair. Indeed, it would have
been impossible for him to remain in ignorance considering the
intimate relationship between him, Varvara Ardalionovna, and
Ptitsin. But although he and the prince were intimate, in a
sense, and although the latter had placed the Burdovsky affair in
his hands-and this was not the only mark of confidence he had
received--it seemed curious how many matters there were that were
tacitly avoided in their conversations. Muishkin thought that
Gania at times appeared to desire more cordiality and frankness.
It was apparent now, when he entered, that he, was convinced that
the moment for breaking the ice between them had come at last.
But all the same Gania was in haste, for his sister was waiting
at Lebedeff's to consult him on an urgent matter of business. If
he had anticipated impatient questions, or impulsive confidences,
he was soon undeceived. The prince was thoughtful, reserved, even
a little absent-minded, and asked none of the questions--one in
particular--that Gania had expected. So he imitated the prince's
demeanour, and talked fast and brilliantly upon all subjects but
the one on which their thoughts were engaged. Among other things
Gania told his host that Nastasia Philipovna had been only four
days in Pavlofsk, and that everyone was talking about her
already. She was staying with Daria Alexeyevna, in an ugly little
house in Mattrossky Street, but drove about in the smartest
carriage in the place. A crowd of followers had pursued her from
the first, young and old. Some escorted her on horse-back when
she took the air in her carriage.
She was as capricious as ever in the choice of her acquaintances,
and admitted few into her narrow circle. Yet she already had a
numerous following and many champions on whom she could depend in
time of need. One gentleman on his holiday had broken off his
engagement on her account, and an old general had quarrelled with
his only son for the same reason.
She was accompanied sometimes in her carriage by a girl of
sixteen, a distant relative of her hostess. This young lady sang
very well; in fact, her music had given a kind of notoriety to
their little house. Nastasia, however, was behaving with great
discretion on the whole. She dressed quietly, though with such
taste as to drive all the ladies in Pavlofsk mad with envy, of
that, as well as of her beauty and her carriage and horses.
"As for yesterday's episode," continued Gania, "of course it was
pre-arranged." Here he paused, as though expecting to be asked
how he knew that. But the prince did not inquire. Concerning
Evgenie Pavlovitch, Gania stated, without being asked, that he
believed the former had not known Nastasia Philipovna in past
years, but that he had probably been introduced to her by
somebody in the park during these four days. As to the question
of the IOU's she had spoken of, there might easily be something
in that; for though Evgenie was undoubtedly a man of wealth, yet
certain of his affairs were equally undoubtedly in disorder.
Arrived at this interesting point, Gania suddenly broke off, and
said no more about Nastasia's prank of the previous evening.
At last Varvara Ardalionovna came in search of her brother, and
remained for a few minutes. Without Muishkin's asking her, she
informed him that Evgenie Pavlovitch was spending the day in
Petersburg, and perhaps would remain there over tomorrow; and
that her husband had also gone to town, probably in connection
with Evgenie Pavlovitch's affairs.
"Lizabetha Prokofievna is in a really fiendish temper today,"
she added, as she went out, "but the most curious thing is that
Aglaya has quarrelled with her whole family; not only with her
father and mother, but with her sisters also. It is not a good
sign." She said all this quite casually, though it was extremely
important in the eyes of the prince, and went off with her
brother. Regarding the episode of "Pavlicheff's son," Gania had
been absolutely silent, partly from a kind of false modesty,
partly, perhaps, to "spare the prince's feelings." The latter,
however, thanked him again for the trouble he had taken in the
affair.
Muishkin was glad enough to be left alone. He went out of the
garden, crossed the road, and entered the park. He wished to
reflect, and to make up his mind as to a certain "step." This
step was one of those things, however, which are not thought out,
as a rule, but decided for or against hastily, and without much
reflection. The fact is, he felt a longing to leave all this and
go away--go anywhere, if only it were far enough, and at once,
without bidding farewell to anyone. He felt a presentiment that
if he remained but a few days more in this place, and among these
people, he would be fixed there irrevocably and permanently.
However, in a very few minutes he decided that to run away was
impossible; that it would be cowardly; that great problems lay
before him, and that he had no right to leave them unsolved, or
at least to refuse to give all his energy and strength to the
attempt to solve them. Having come to this determination, he
turned and went home, his walk having lasted less than a quarter
of an hour. At that moment he was thoroughly unhappy.
Lebedeff had not returned, so towards evening Keller managed to
penetrate into the prince's apartments. He was not drunk, but in
a confidential and talkative mood. He announced that he had come
to tell the story of his life to Muishkin, and had only remained
at Pavlofsk for that purpose. There was no means of turning him
out; nothing short of an earthquake would have removed him.
In the manner of one with long hours before him, he began his
history; but after a few incoherent words he jumped to the
conclusion, which was that "having ceased to believe in God
Almighty, he had lost every vestige of morality, and had gone so
far as to commit a theft." "Could you imagine such a thing?" said
he.
"Listen to me, Keller," returned the prince. "If I were in your
place, I should not acknowledge that unless it were absolutely
necessary for some reason. But perhaps you are making yourself
out to be worse than you are, purposely?"
"I should tell it to no one but yourself, prince, and I only name
it now as a help to my soul's evolution. When I die, that secret
will die with me! But, excellency, if you knew, if you only had
the least idea, how difficult it is to get money nowadays! Where
to find it is the question. Ask for a loan, the answer is always
the same: 'Give us gold, jewels, or diamonds, and it will be
quite easy.' Exactly what one has not got! Can you picture that
to yourself? I got angry at last, and said, 'I suppose you would
accept emeralds?' 'Certainly, we accept emeralds with pleasure.
Yes!' 'Well, that's all right,' said I. 'Go to the devil, you den
of thieves!' And with that I seized my hat, and walked out."
"Had you any emeralds?" asked the prince.
"What? I have emeralds? Oh, prince! with what simplicity, with
what almost pastoral simplicity, you look upon life!"
Could not something be made of this man under good influences?
asked the prince of himself, for he began to feel a kind of pity
for his visitor. He thought little of the value of his own
personal influence, not from a sense of humility, but from his
peculiar way of looking at things in general. Imperceptibly the
conversation grew more animated and more interesting, so that
neither of the two felt anxious to bring it to a close. Keller
confessed, with apparent sincerity, to having been guilty of many
acts of such a nature that it astonished the prince that he could
mention them, even to him. At every fresh avowal he professed the
deepest repentance, and described himself as being "bathed in
tears"; but this did not prevent him from putting on a boastful
air at times, and some of his stories were so absurdly comical
that both he and the prince laughed like madmen.
"One point in your favour is that you seem to have a child-like
mind, and extreme truthfulness," said the prince at last. "Do you
know that that atones for much?"
"I am assuredly noble-minded, and chivalrous to a degree!" said
Keller, much softened. "But, do you know, this nobility of mind
exists in a dream, if one may put it so? It never appears in
practice or deed. Now, why is that? I can never understand."
"Do not despair. I think we may say without fear of deceiving
ourselves, that you have now given a fairly exact account of your
life. I, at least, think it would be impossible to add much to
what you have just told me."
"Impossible?" cried Keller, almost pityingly. "Oh prince, how
little you really seem to understand human nature!"
"Is there really much more to be added?" asked the prince, with
mild surprise. "Well, what is it you really want of me? Speak
out; tell me why you came to make your confession to me?"
"What did I want? Well, to begin with, it is good to meet a man
like you. It is a pleasure to talk over my faults with you. I
know you for one of the best of men ... and then ... then ..."
He hesitated, and appeared so much embarrassed that the prince
helped him out.
"Then you wanted me to lend you money?"
The words were spoken in a grave tone, and even somewhat shyly.
Keller started, gave an astonished look at the speaker, and
thumped the table with his fist.
"Well, prince, that's enough to knock me down! It astounds me!
Here you are, as simple and innocent as a knight of the golden
age, and yet ... yet ... you read a man's soul like a
psychologist! Now, do explain it to me, prince, because I ... I
really do not understand! ... Of course, my aim was to borrow
money all along, and you ... you asked the question as if there
was nothing blameable in it--as if you thought it quite natural."
"Yes ... from you it is quite natural."
"And you are not offended?"
"Why should I be offended?"
"Well, just listen, prince. I remained here last evening, partly
because I have a great admiration for the French archbishop
Bourdaloue. I enjoyed a discussion over him till three o'clock in
the morning, with Lebedeff; and then ...
then--I swear by all I hold sacred that I am telling you the
truth--then I wished to develop my soul in this frank and
heartfelt confession to you. This was my thought as I was sobbing
myself to sleep at dawn. Just as I was losing consciousness,
tears in my soul, tears on my face (I remember how I lay there
sobbing), an idea from hell struck me. 'Why not, after
confessing, borrow money from him?' You see, this confession was
a kind of masterstroke; I intended to use it as a means to your
good grace and favour--and then--then I meant to walk off with a
hundred and fifty roubles. Now, do you not call that base?"
"It is hardly an exact statement of the case," said the prince in
reply. "You have confused your motives and ideas, as I need
scarcely say too often happens to myself. I can assure you,
Keller, I reproach myself bitterly for it sometimes. When you
were talking just now I seemed to be listening to something about
myself. At times I have imagined that all men were the same," he
continued earnestly, for he appeared to be much interested in the
conversation, "and that consoled me in a certain degree, for a
DOUBLE motive is a thing most difficult to fight against. I have
tried, and I know. God knows whence they arise, these ideas that
you speak of as base. I fear these double motives more than ever
just now, but I am not your judge, and in my opinion it is going
too far to give the name of baseness to it--what do you think?
You were going to employ your tears as a ruse in order to borrow
money, but you also say--in fact, you have sworn to the fact--
that independently of this your confession was made with an
honourable motive. As for the money, you want it for drink, do
you not? After your confession, that is weakness, of course; but,
after all, how can anyone give up a bad habit at a moment's
notice? It is impossible. What can we do? It is best, I think, to
leave the matter to your own conscience. How does it seem to
you?" As he concluded the prince looked curiously at Keller;
evidently this problem of double motives had often been
considered by him before.
"Well, how anybody can call you an idiot after that, is more than
I can understand!" cried the boxer.
The prince reddened slightly.
"Bourdaloue, the archbishop, would not have spared a man like
me," Keller continued, "but you, you have judged me with
humanity. To show how grateful I am, and as a punishment, I will
not accept a hundred and fifty roubles. Give me twenty-five--that
will be enough; it is all I really need, for a fortnight at
least. I will not ask you for more for a fortnight. I should like
to have given Agatha a present, but she does not really deserve
it. Oh, my dear prince, God bless you!"
At this moment Lebedeff appeared, having just arrived from
Petersburg. He frowned when he saw the twenty-five rouble note in
Keller's hand, but the latter, having got the money, went away at
once. Lebedeff began to abuse him.
"You are unjust; I found him sincerely repentant," observed the
prince, after listening for a time.
"What is the good of repentance like that? It is the same exactly
as mine yesterday, when I said, 'I am base, I am base,'--words,
and nothing more!"
"Then they were only words on your part? I thought, on the
contrary..."
"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."
"Why, Keller said the same thing to me nearly word for word a few
minutes ago!" cried Muishkin. "And you both seem inclined to
boast about it! You astonish me, but I think he is more sincere
than you, for you make a regular trade of it. Oh, don't put on
that pathetic expression, and don't put your hand on your heart!
Have you anything to say to me? You have not come for nothing..."
Lebedeff grinned and wriggled.
"I have been waiting all day for you, because I want to ask you a
question; and, for once in your life, please tell me the truth at
once. Had you anything to do with that affair of the carriage
yesterday?"
Lebedeff began to grin again, rubbed his hands, sneezed, but
spoke not a word in reply.
"I see you had something to do with it."
"Indirectly, quite indirectly! I am speaking the truth--I am
indeed! I merely told a certain person that I had people in my
house, and that such and such personages might be found among
them."
"I am aware that you sent your son to that house--he told me so
himself just now, but what is this intrigue?" said the prince,
impatiently.
"It is not my intrigue!" cried Lebedeff, waving his hand.
"It was engineered by other people, and is, properly speaking,
rather a fantasy than an intrigue!"
"But what is it all about? Tell me, for Heaven's sake! Cannot you
understand how nearly it touches me? Why are they blackening
Evgenie Pavlovitch's reputation?"
Lebedeff grimaced and wriggled again.
"Prince!" said he. "Excellency! You won't let me tell you the
whole truth; I have tried to explain; more than once I have
begun, but you have not allowed me to go on..."
The prince gave no answer, and sat deep in thought. Evidently he
was struggling to decide.
"Very well! Tell me the truth," he said, dejectedly.
"Aglaya Ivanovna ..." began Lebedeff, promptly.
"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!"
Late in the evening Colia came in with a whole budget of
Petersburg and Pavlofsk news. He did not dwell much on the
Petersburg part of it, which consisted chiefly of intelligence
about his friend Hippolyte, but passed quickly to the Pavlofsk
tidings. He had gone straight to the Epanchins' from the station.
"There's the deuce and all going on there!" he said. "First of
all about the row last night, and I think there must be something
new as well, though I didn't like to ask. Not a word about YOU,
prince, the whole time!" The most interesting fact was that
Aglaya had been quarrelling with her people about Gania. Colia
did not know any details, except that it had been a terrible
quarrel! Also Evgenie Pavlovitch had called, and met with an
excellent reception all round. And another curious thing: Mrs.
Epanchin was so angry that she called Varia to her--Varia was
talking to the girls--and turned her out of the house "once for
all "she said. "I heard it from Varia herself--Mrs. Epanchin was
quite polite, but firm; and when Varia said good-bye to the
girls, she told them nothing about it, and they didn't know they
were saying goodbye for the last time. I'm sorry for Varia, and
for Gania too; he isn't half a bad fellow, in spite of his
faults, and I shall never forgive myself for not liking him
before! I don't know whether I ought to continue to go to the
Epanchins' now," concluded Colia--" I like to be quite
independent of others, and of other people's quarrels if I can;
but I must think over it."
"I don't think you need break your heart over Gania," said the
prince; "for if what you say is true, he must be considered
dangerous in the Epanchin household, and if so, certain hopes of
his must have been encouraged."
"What? What hopes?" cried Colia; "you surely don't mean Aglaya?--
oh, no!--"
"You're a dreadful sceptic, prince," he continued, after a
moment's silence. "I have observed of late that you have grown
sceptical about everything. You don't seem to believe in people
as you did, and are always attributing motives and so on--am I
using the word 'sceptic' in its proper sense?"
"I believe so; but I'm not sure."
"Well, I'll change it, right or wrong; I'll say that you are not
sceptical, but JEALOUS. There! you are deadly jealous of Gania,
over a certain proud damsel! Come!" Colia jumped up, with these
words, and burst out laughing. He laughed as he had perhaps never
laughed before, and still more when he saw the prince flushing up
to his temples. He was delighted that the prince should be
jealous about Aglaya. However, he stopped immediately on seeing
that the other was really hurt, and the conversation continued,
very earnestly, for an hour or more.
Next day the prince had to go to town, on business. Returning in
the afternoon, he happened upon General Epanchin at the station.
The latter seized his hand, glancing around nervously, as if he
were afraid of being caught in wrong-doing, and dragged him into
a first-class compartment. He was burning to speak about
something of importance.
"In the first place, my dear prince, don't be angry with me. I
would have come to see you yesterday, but I didn't know how
Lizabetha Prokofievna would take it. My dear fellow, my house is
simply a hell just now, a sort of sphinx has taken up its abode
there. We live in an atmosphere of riddles; I can't make head or
tail of anything. As for you, I feel sure you are the least to
blame of any of us, though you certainly have been the cause of a
good deal of trouble. You see, it's all very pleasant to be a
philanthropist; but it can be carried too far. Of course I admire
kind-heartedness, and I esteem my wife, but--"
The general wandered on in this disconnected way for a long time;
it was clear that he was much disturbed by some circumstance
which he could make nothing of.
"It is plain to me, that YOU are not in it at all," he continued,
at last, a little less vaguely, "but perhaps you had better not
come to our house for a little while. I ask you in the
friendliest manner, mind; just till the wind changes again. As
for Evgenie Pavlovitch," he continued with some excitement, "the
whole thing is a calumny, a dirty calumny. It is simply a plot,
an intrigue, to upset our plans and to stir up a quarrel. You
see, prince, I'll tell you privately, Evgenie and ourselves have
not said a word yet, we have no formal understanding, we are in
no way bound on either side, but the word may be said very soon,
don't you see, VERY soon, and all this is most injurious, and is
meant to be so. Why? I'm sure I can't tell you. She's an
extraordinary woman, you see, an eccentric woman; I tell you I am
so frightened of that woman that I can't sleep. What a carriage
that was, and where did it come from, eh? I declare, I was base
enough to suspect Evgenie at first; but it seems certain that
that cannot be the case, and if so, why is she interfering here?
That's the riddle, what does she want? Is it to keep Evgenie to
herself? But, my dear fellow, I swear to you, I swear he doesn't
even KNOW her, and as for those bills, why, the whole thing is an
invention! And the familiarity of the woman! It's quite clear we
must treat the impudent creature's attempt with disdain, and
redouble our courtesy towards Evgenie. I told my wife so.
"Now I'll tell you my secret conviction. I'm certain that she's
doing this to revenge herself on me, on account of the past,
though I assure you that all the time I was blameless. I blush at
the very idea. And now she turns up again like this, when I
thought she had finally disappeared! Where's Rogojin all this
time? I thought she was Mrs. Rogojin, long ago."
The old man was in a state of great mental perturbation. The
whole of the journey, which occupied nearly an hour, he continued
in this strain, putting questions and answering them himself,
shrugging his shoulders, pressing the prince's hand, and assuring
the latter that, at all events, he had no suspicion whatever of
HIM. This last assurance was satisfactory, at all events. The
general finished by informing him that Evgenie's uncle was head
of one of the civil service departments, and rich, very rich, and
a gourmand. "And, well, Heaven preserve him, of course--but
Evgenie gets his money, don't you see? But, for all this, I'm
uncomfortable, I don't know why. There's something in the air, I
feel there's something nasty in the air, like a bat, and I'm by
no means comfortable."
And it was not until the third day that the formal reconciliation
between the prince and the Epanchins took place, as said before.
