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Hippolyte frowned gloomily.

“Was not Nastasia Philipovna here with him, yesterday evening?”

“Marie Alexandrovna is not at home,” said she, staring hard at the general. “She
has gone to her mother’s, with Alexandra Michailovna.”

The prince left her at eleven, full of these thoughts, and went home. But it was
not twelve o’clock when a messenger came to say that Nastasia was very bad, and
he must come at once.

It was said that there were other reasons for his hurried departure; but as to
this, and as to his movements in Moscow, and as to his prolonged absence from
St. Petersburg, we are able to give very little information.

“Lef Nicolaievitch!” cried Parfen, before he had reached the next landing. “Have
you got that cross you bought from the soldier with you?”

Nastasia Philipovna was quite capable of ruining herself, and even of
perpetrating something which would send her to Siberia, for the mere pleasure of
injuring a man for whom she had developed so inhuman a sense of loathing and
contempt. He had sufficient insight to understand that she valued nothing in the
world--herself least of all--and he made no attempt to conceal the fact that he
was a coward in some respects. For instance, if he had been told that he would
be stabbed at the altar, or publicly insulted, he would undoubtedly have been
frightened; but not so much at the idea of being murdered, or wounded, or
insulted, as at the thought that if such things were to happen he would be made
to look ridiculous in the eyes of society.

“This ‘explanation’ will make the matter clear enough to the police. Students of
psychology, and anyone else who likes, may make what they please of it. I should
not like this paper, however, to be made public. I request the prince to keep a
copy himself, and to give a copy to Aglaya Ivanovna Epanchin. This is my last
will and testament. As for my skeleton, I bequeath it to the Medical Academy for
the benefit of science. He fell senseless at last--and was carried into the
prince’s study.
“Forgive me, it’s a schoolboy expression. I won’t do it again. I know quite
well, I see it, that you are anxious on my account (now, don’t be angry), and it
makes me very happy to see it. You wouldn’t believe how frightened I am of
misbehaving somehow, and how glad I am of your instructions. But all this panic
is simply nonsense, you know, Aglaya! I give you my word it is; I am so pleased
that you are such a child, such a dear good child. How _charming_ you can be if
you like, Aglaya.”

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.

“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!”

The prince certainly had darted a rather piercing look at her, and now observed
that she had begun to blush violently. At such moments, the more Aglaya blushed,
the angrier she grew with herself; and this was clearly expressed in her eyes,
which flashed like fire. As a rule, she vented her wrath on her unfortunate
companion, be it who it might. She was very conscious of her own shyness, and
was not nearly so talkative as her sisters for this reason--in fact, at times
she was much too quiet. When, therefore, she was bound to talk, especially at
such delicate moments as this, she invariably did so with an air of haughty
defiance. She always knew beforehand when she was going to blush, long before
the blush came.

When the prince did give the matter a little attention, he recalled the fact
that during these days he had always found Lebedeff to be in radiantly good
spirits, when they happened to meet; and further, that the general and Lebedeff
were always together. The two friends did not seem ever to be parted for a
moment.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been half an hour here with him, and he--”

“Never, never!” cried Rogojin, excitedly.

“How?” cried Aglaya--and her lower lip trembled violently. “You were _afraid_
that I--you dared to think that I--good gracious! you suspected, perhaps, that I
sent for you to come here in order to catch you in a trap, so that they should
find us here together, and make you marry me--”

“Prince, you are not only simple, but your simplicity is almost past the limit,”
said Lebedeff’s nephew, with a sarcastic smile.

“No, no, no, no, no! Nothing of the sort, I assure you!” said Lebedeff, hastily.
“Oh dear no, not for the world! Totski’s the only man with any chance there. Oh,
no! He takes her to his box at the opera at the French theatre of an evening,
and the officers and people all look at her and say, ‘By Jove, there’s the
famous Nastasia Philipovna!’ but no one ever gets any further than that, for
there is nothing more to say.”

“It’s impossible, for that very reason,” said the prince. “How would she get out
if she wished to? You don’t know the habits of that house--she _could_ not get
away alone to Nastasia Philipovna’s! It’s all nonsense!”

“And natural,” repeated Lebedeff with pedantic obstinacy. “Besides, a Catholic
monk is by nature excessively curious; it would be quite easy therefore to
entice him into a wood, or some secret place, on false pretences, and there to
deal with him as said. But I do not dispute in the least that the number of
persons consumed appears to denote a spice of greediness.”
“I’ve put her in the carriage,” he said; “it has been waiting round the corner
there since ten o’clock. She expected that you would be with _them_ all the
evening. I told her exactly what you wrote me. She won’t write to the girl any
more, she promises; and tomorrow she will be off, as you wish. She desired to
see you for the last time, although you refused, so we’ve been sitting and
waiting on that bench till you should pass on your way home.”

“Well! naturally he came to grief: the law is not administered as it used to be,
and he only got laughed at for his pains. But he was much pleased with himself
in spite of that. ‘Most learned judge!’ said he, ‘picture this unhappy man,
crippled by age and infirmities, who gains his living by honourable
toil--picture him, I repeat, robbed of his all, of his last mouthful; remember,
I entreat you, the words of that learned legislator, “Let mercy and justice
alike rule the courts of law.”’ Now, would you believe it, excellency, every
morning he recites this speech to us from beginning to end, exactly as he spoke
it before the magistrate. To-day we have heard it for the fifth time. He was
just starting again when you arrived, so much does he admire it. He is now
preparing to undertake another case. I think, by the way, that you are Prince
Muishkin? Colia tells me you are the cleverest man he has ever known....”

“What is that?” asked Nastasia Philipovna, gazing intently at Rogojin, and
indicating the paper packet.

“There’s nothing better than the ‘poor knight’!” said Colia, who was standing
near the last speaker’s chair.

“Goodness knows what it means, ma’am,” she said. “There is a whole collection of
men come--all tipsy--and want to see you. They say that ‘it’s Rogojin, and she
knows all about it.’”

“That picture! That picture!” cried Muishkin, struck by a sudden idea. “Why, a
man’s faith might be ruined by looking at that picture!”

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.
“_What_ a--”
“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.
Vera came in three minutes after the Epanchins had left. “Lef Nicolaievitch,”
she said, “Aglaya Ivanovna has just given me a message for you.”
Nastasia introduced the prince to her guests, to most of whom he was already
known.
“There were a couple of old bullets in the bag which contained the pistol, and
powder enough in an old flask for two or three charges.

“What! didn’t I tell you? Ha, ha, ha! I thought I had. Why, I received a letter,
you know, to be handed over--”

“Insinuation? Oh! I assure you, I take your word for it.” And the prince
continued laughing merrily.

The prince remarked that Evgenie Pavlovitch’s plain clothes had evidently made a
great impression upon the company present, so much so that all other interests
seemed to be effaced before this surprising fact.

“A little while ago a very amusing idea struck me. What if I were now to commit
some terrible crime--murder ten fellow-creatures, for instance, or anything else
that is thought most shocking and dreadful in this world--what a dilemma my
judges would be in, with a criminal who only has a fortnight to live in any
case, now that the rack and other forms of torture are abolished! Why, I should
die comfortably in their own hospital--in a warm, clean room, with an attentive
doctor--probably much more comfortably than I should at home.

“Hurrah!” cried a number of voices. A rush was made for the wine by Rogojin’s
followers, though, even among them, there seemed some sort of realization that
the situation had changed. Rogojin stood and looked on, with an incredulous
smile, screwing up one side of his mouth. But it was Hippolyte’s last idea which
upset him. “Wait a bit, my boy, I’ll just go--you stay here, you know. But do
just explain, if you can, Lef Nicolaievitch, how in the world has all this come
about? And what does it all mean? You must understand, my dear fellow; I am a
father, you see, and I ought to be allowed to understand the matter--do explain,
I beg you!”

“Then why is it ‘not the point’?”

“And meanwhile I have never been able, in spite of my great desire to do so, to
persuade myself that there is no future existence, and no Providence.

“And what can I do for you, esteemed prince? Since I am told you sent for me
just now,” he said, after a few moments’ silence.

“It’s burning, it’s burning!” cried all, thronging nearer and nearer to the fire
in their excitement.

“‘So much depends upon your uncle,’ I said. ‘And besides we have always been
enemies, Bachmatoff; and as you are a generous sort of fellow, I thought you
would not refuse my request because I was your enemy!’ I added with irony.
“H’m! I like to see that you know your manners; and you are by no means such a
person as the general thought fit to describe you. Come along; you sit here,
opposite to me,” she continued, “I wish to be able to see your face. Alexandra,
Adelaida, look after the prince! He doesn’t seem so very ill, does he? I don’t
think he requires a napkin under his chin, after all; are you accustomed to
having one on, prince?”

Why, here he was on the Petersburg Side already, quite close to the house! Where
was his “idea”? He was marching along without it now. Yes, his malady was coming
back, it was clear enough; all this gloom and heaviness, all these “ideas,” were
nothing more nor less than a fit coming on; perhaps he would have a fit this
very day.

The prince now left the room and shut himself up in his own chamber. Colia
followed him almost at once, anxious to do what he could to console him. The
poor boy seemed to be already so attached to him that he could hardly leave him.

“‘How dare you come in so? Be off!’ he shouted, trembling all over with rage and
scarcely able to articulate the words. Suddenly, however, he observed his
pocketbook in my hand.

“What on earth will she say to me, I wonder?” he thought to himself.

“Perhaps not; it is very possible,” the prince agreed hastily, “though I do not
know what general law you allude to. I will go on--only please do not take
offence without good cause. I assure you I do not mean to offend you in the
least. Really, it is impossible to speak three words sincerely without your
flying into a rage! At first I was amazed when Tchebaroff told me that
Pavlicheff had a son, and that he was in such a miserable position. Pavlicheff
was my benefactor, and my father’s friend. Oh, Mr. Keller, why does your article
impute things to my father without the slightest foundation? He never squandered
the funds of his company nor ill-treated his subordinates, I am absolutely
certain of it; I cannot imagine how you could bring yourself to write such a
calumny! But your assertions concerning Pavlicheff are absolutely intolerable!
You do not scruple to make a libertine of that noble man; you call him a
sensualist as coolly as if you were speaking the truth, and yet it would not be
possible to find a chaster man. He was even a scholar of note, and in
correspondence with several celebrated scientists, and spent large sums in the
interests of science. As to his kind heart and his good actions, you were right
indeed when you said that I was almost an idiot at that time, and could hardly
understand anything--(I could speak and understand Russian, though),--but now I
can appreciate what I remember--”

“Oh! he’s not dangerous there!” cried Gania, laughing angrily. “However, I
believe there is something of that sort in the air; he is very likely to be in
love, for he is a mere boy. But he won’t write anonymous letters to the old
lady; that would be too audacious a thing for him to attempt; but I dare swear
the very first thing he did was to show me up to Aglaya as a base deceiver and
intriguer. I confess I was fool enough to attempt something through him at
first. I thought he would throw himself into my service out of revengeful
feelings towards the prince, the sly little beast! But I know him better now. As
for the theft, he may have heard of it from the widow in Petersburg, for if the
old man committed himself to such an act, he can have done it for no other
object but to give the money to her. Hippolyte said to me, without any prelude,
that the general had promised the widow four hundred roubles. Of course I
understood, and the little wretch looked at me with a nasty sort of
satisfaction. I know him; you may depend upon it he went and told mother too,
for the pleasure of wounding her. And why doesn’t he die, I should like to know?
He undertook to die within three weeks, and here he is getting fatter. His cough
is better, too. It was only yesterday that he said that was the second day he
hadn’t coughed blood.”
“Now, that is a valuable piece of information, Mr. Keller,” replied Gania.
“However that may be, I have private information which convinces me that Mr.
Burdovsky, though doubtless aware of the date of his birth, knew nothing at all
about Pavlicheff’s sojourn abroad. Indeed, he passed the greater part of his
life out of Russia, returning at intervals for short visits. The journey in
question is in itself too unimportant for his friends to recollect it after more
than twenty years; and of course Mr. Burdovsky could have known nothing about
it, for he was not born. As the event has proved, it was not impossible to find
evidence of his absence, though I must confess that chance has helped me in a
quest which might very well have come to nothing. It was really almost
impossible for Burdovsky or Tchebaroff to discover these facts, even if it had
entered their heads to try. Naturally they never dreamt...”

“Oh, indeed! Then it is perhaps as well that I neither _did_ invite you, nor
_do_ invite you now. Excuse me, prince, but we had better make this matter
clear, once for all. We have just agreed that with regard to our relationship
there is not much to be said, though, of course, it would have been very
delightful to us to feel that such relationship did actually exist; therefore,
perhaps--”

“No. I was only going to say that what surprises me most of all is your
extraordinary confidence.”

“Prince,” said Nastasia Philipovna, unexpectedly turning to Muishkin, “here are
my old friends, Totski and General Epanchin, who wish to marry me off. Tell me
what you think. Shall I marry or not? As you decide, so shall it be.”

“Is Nastasia Philipovna at your house?”

The prince’s further fate was more or less decided by Colia, who selected, out
of all the persons he had met during the last six or seven months, Evgenie
Pavlovitch, as friend and confidant. To him he made over all that he knew as to
the events above recorded, and as to the present condition of the prince. He was
not far wrong in his choice. Evgenie Pavlovitch took the deepest interest in the
fate of the unfortunate “idiot,” and, thanks to his influence, the prince found
himself once more with Dr. Schneider, in Switzerland.

Mrs. Epanchin gazed keenly into the prince’s eyes. She was anxious to see what
impression the news as to Evgenie Pavlovitch had made upon him.

Gania lit a cigarette and offered one to the prince. The latter accepted the
offer, but did not talk, being unwilling to disturb Gania’s work. He commenced
to examine the study and its contents. But Gania hardly so much as glanced at
the papers lying before him; he was absent and thoughtful, and his smile and
general appearance struck the prince still more disagreeably now that the two
were left alone together.

“You know I have never needed to blush before you, up to this day, though
perhaps you would have been glad enough to make me,” said Lizabetha
Prokofievna,--with majesty. “Good-bye, prince; forgive me for bothering you. I
trust you will rest assured of my unalterable esteem for you.”

Lizabetha Prokofievna frowned, but had not as yet grasped the subject, which
seemed to have arisen out of a heated argument. Aglaya sat apart, almost in the
corner, listening in stubborn silence.

“Yes, I’m at home. Where else should I go to?”

“Well, if you could tell Aleksey about it, surely you can tell us too.”
He drew a long, deep breath of relief, as it seemed. He realized that all was
not over as yet, that the sun had not risen, and that the guests had merely gone
to supper. He smiled, and two hectic spots appeared on his cheeks.
“Ah, he’s ashamed to! He _meant_ to ask you, I know, for he said so. I suppose
he thinks that as you gave him some once (you remember), you would probably
refuse if he asked you again.”

What had really happened?

Evgenie Pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at Nastasia Philipovna, then
turned his back on her.

“Ha, ha, ha!”

The prince and the general were the only two persons left in the room.

Lebedeff immediately procured the services of an old doctor, and carried the
latter away to Pavlofsk to see the prince, by way of viewing the ground, as it
were, and to give him (Lebedeff) counsel as to whether the thing was to be done
or not. The visit was not to be official, but merely friendly.

“Oh, it’s too horrible!” cried poor Colia, sobbing with shame and annoyance.

As to the girls, nothing was said openly, at all events; and probably very
little in private. They were proud damsels, and were not always perfectly
confidential even among themselves. But they understood each other thoroughly at
the first word on all occasions; very often at the first glance, so that there
was no need of much talking as a rule. “He has been very ill,” added Varia.

“I admit I was afraid that that was the case, yesterday,” blundered the prince
(he was rather confused), “but today I am quite convinced that--”

“No, no, no, can’t _bear_ him, I can’t _bear_ your young man!” cried Aglaya,
raising her head. “And if you dare say that _once_ more, papa--I’m serious, you
know, I’m,--do you hear me--I’m serious!”

“Well, what conclusion have you reached?”

Of course, the last argument was the chief one. The maternal heart trembled with
indignation to think of such an absurdity, although in that heart there rose
another voice, which said: “And _why_ is not the prince such a husband as you
would have desired for Aglaya?” It was this voice which annoyed Lizabetha
Prokofievna more than anything else.

“Nastasia Philipovna, will you excuse the general for a moment? Someone is
inquiring for him,” said Nina Alexandrovna in a loud voice, interrupting the
conversation.

“Oh, but you can’t stay here. You are a visitor--a guest, so to speak. Is it the
general himself you wish to see?”

This new woman gave him further to understand that though it was absolutely the
same to her whom he married, yet she had decided to prevent this marriage--for
no particular reason, but that she _chose_ to do so, and because she wished to
amuse herself at his expense for that it was “quite her turn to laugh a little
now!”
“No, no, Lizabetha Prokofievna, take no notice of me. I am not going to have a
fit. I will go away directly; but I know I am afflicted. I was twenty-four years
an invalid, you see--the first twenty-four years of my life--so take all I do
and say as the sayings and actions of an invalid. I’m going away directly, I
really am--don’t be afraid. I am not blushing, for I don’t think I need blush
about it, need I? But I see that I am out of place in society--society is better
without me. It’s not vanity, I assure you. I have thought over it all these last
three days, and I have made up my mind that I ought to unbosom myself candidly
before you at the first opportunity. There are certain things, certain great
ideas, which I must not so much as approach, as Prince S. has just reminded me,
or I shall make you all laugh. I have no sense of proportion, I know; my words
and gestures do not express my ideas--they are a humiliation and abasement of
the ideas, and therefore, I have no right--and I am too sensitive. Still, I
believe I am beloved in this household, and esteemed far more than I deserve.
But I can’t help knowing that after twenty-four years of illness there must be
some trace left, so that it is impossible for people to refrain from laughing at
me sometimes; don’t you think so?”
“I know a new and most delightful game, added Ferdishenko.
“Marfa Borisovna! Marfa Borisovna! Here is... the Prince Muishkin! General
Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin,” stammered the disconcerted old man.

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

“You know I am a bit of a poet,” said he. “Have you noticed it? The poetic soul,
you know.” Then he added suddenly--“But after all... after all I believe we made
a mistake this time! I remember that the Sokolovitch’s live in another house,
and what is more, they are just now in Moscow. Yes, I certainly was at fault.
However, it is of no consequence.”

“May I ask why? and also why you walk about on tiptoe and always seem as if you
were going to whisper a secret in my ear whenever you come near me?”

“Yes.”