Before them stood Lizabetha Prokofievna.
“Why, it’s true that I am going to marry Gavrila Ardalionovitch, that I
love him and intend to elope with him tomorrow,” cried Aglaya, turning
upon her mother. “Do you hear? Is your curiosity satisfied? Are you pleased
with what you have heard?”
Aglaya rushed away homewards with these words.
“H’m! well, you are not going away just yet, my friend, at all events,”
said Lizabetha, stopping the prince. “Kindly step home with me, and let me
have a little explanation of the mystery. Nice goings on, these! I haven’t
slept a wink all night as it is.”
The prince followed her.
IX.
Arrived at her house, Lizabetha Prokofievna paused in the first room. She
could go no farther, and subsided on to a couch quite exhausted; too feeble
to remember so much as to ask the prince to take a seat. This was a large
reception-room, full of flowers, and with a glass door leading into the
garden.
Alexandra and Adelaida came in almost immediately, and looked
inquiringly at the prince and their mother.
The girls generally rose at about nine in the morning in the country;
Aglaya, of late, had been in the habit of getting up rather earlier and having
a walk in the garden, but not at seven o’clock; about eight or a little later
was her usual time.
Lizabetha Prokofievna, who really had not slept all night, rose at about
eight on purpose to meet Aglaya in the garden and walk with her; but she
could not find her either in the garden or in her own room.
This agitated the old lady considerably; and she awoke her other
daughters. Next, she learned from the maid that Aglaya had gone into the
park before seven o’clock. The sisters made a joke of Aglaya’s last freak,
and told their mother that if she went into the park to look for her, Aglaya
would probably be very angry with her, and that she was pretty sure to be
sitting reading on the green bench that she had talked of two or three days
since, and about which she had nearly quarrelled with Prince S., who did
not see anything particularly lovely in it.
Arrived at the rendezvous of the prince and her daughter, and hearing the
strange words of the latter, Lizabetha Prokofievna had been dreadfully
alarmed, for many reasons. However, now that she had dragged the prince
home with her, she began to feel a little frightened at what she had
undertaken. Why should not Aglaya meet the prince in the park and have a
talk with him, even if such a meeting should be by appointment?
“Don’t suppose, prince,” she began, bracing herself up for the effort,
“don’t suppose that I have brought you here to ask questions. After last
night, I assure you, I am not so exceedingly anxious to see you at all; I
could have postponed the pleasure for a long while.” She paused.
“But at the same time you would be very glad to know how I happened to
meet Aglaya Ivanovna this morning?” The prince finished her speech for
her with the utmost composure.
“Well, what then? Supposing I should like to know?” cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna, blushing. “I’m sure I am not afraid of plain speaking. I’m not
offending anyone, and I never wish to, and—”
“Pardon me, it is no offence to wish to know this; you are her mother. We
met at the green bench this morning, punctually at seven o’clock,—
according to an agreement made by Aglaya Ivanovna with myself
yesterday. She said that she wished to see me and speak to me about
something important. We met and conversed for an hour about matters
concerning Aglaya Ivanovna herself, and that’s all.”
“Of course it is all, my friend. I don’t doubt you for a moment,” said
Lizabetha Prokofievna with dignity.
“Well done, prince, capital!” cried Aglaya, who entered the room at this
moment. “Thank you for assuming that I would not demean myself with
lies. Come, is that enough, mamma, or do you intend to put any more
questions?”
“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.”
The prince made his bows and retired at once. Alexandra and Adelaida
smiled and whispered to each other, while Lizabetha Prokofievna glared
severely at them. “We are only laughing at the prince’s beautiful bows,
mamma,” said Adelaida. “Sometimes he bows just like a meal-sack, but to-
day he was like—like Evgenie Pavlovitch!”
“It is the heart which is the best teacher of refinement and dignity, not the
dancing-master,” said her mother, sententiously, and departed upstairs to her
own room, not so much as glancing at Aglaya.
When the prince reached home, about nine o’clock, he found Vera
Lebedeff and the maid on the verandah. They were both busy trying to tidy
up the place after last night’s disorderly party.
“Thank goodness, we’ve just managed to finish it before you came in!”
said Vera, joyfully.
“Good-morning! My head whirls so; I didn’t sleep all night. I should like
to have a nap now.”
“Here, on the verandah? Very well, I’ll tell them all not to come and
wake you. Papa has gone out somewhere.”
The servant left the room. Vera was about to follow her, but returned and
approached the prince with a preoccupied air.
“Prince!” she said, “have pity on that poor boy; don’t turn him out
today.”
“Not for the world; he shall do just as he likes.”
“He won’t do any harm now; and—and don’t be too severe with him.”
“Oh dear no! Why—”
“And—and you won’t laugh at him? That’s the chief thing.”
“Oh no! Never.”
“How foolish I am to speak of such things to a man like you,” said Vera,
blushing. “Though you do look tired,” she added, half turning away, “your
eyes are so splendid at this moment—so full of happiness.”
“Really?” asked the prince, gleefully, and he laughed in delight.
But Vera, simple-minded little girl that she was (just like a boy, in fact),
here became dreadfully confused, of a sudden, and ran hastily out of the
room, laughing and blushing.
“What a dear little thing she is,” thought the prince, and immediately
forgot all about her.
He walked to the far end of the verandah, where the sofa stood, with a
table in front of it. Here he sat down and covered his face with his hands,
and so remained for ten minutes. Suddenly he put his hand in his coat-
pocket and hurriedly produced three letters.
But the door opened again, and out came Colia.
The prince actually felt glad that he had been interrupted,—and might
return the letters to his pocket. He was glad of the respite.
“Well,” said Colia, plunging in medias res, as he always did, “here’s a
go! What do you think of Hippolyte now? Don’t respect him any longer,
eh?”
“Why not? But look here, Colia, I’m tired; besides, the subject is too
melancholy to begin upon again. How is he, though?”
“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!”
“How do you know I walked in the park and didn’t sleep at home?”
“Vera just told me. She tried to persuade me not to come, but I couldn’t
help myself, just for one minute. I have been having my turn at the bedside
for the last two hours; Kostia Lebedeff is there now. Burdovsky has gone.
Now, lie down, prince, make yourself comfortable, and sleep well! I’m
awfully impressed, you know.”
“Naturally, all this—”
“No, no, I mean with the ‘explanation,’ especially that part of it where he
talks about Providence and a future life. There is a gigantic thought there.”
The prince gazed affectionately at Colia, who, of course, had come in
solely for the purpose of talking about this “gigantic thought.”
“But it is not any one particular thought, only; it is the general
circumstances of the case. If Voltaire had written this now, or Rousseau, I
should have just read it and thought it remarkable, but should not have been
so impressed by it. But a man who knows for certain that he has but ten
minutes to live and can talk like that—why—it’s—it’s pride, that is! It is
really a most extraordinary, exalted assertion of personal dignity, it’s—it’s
defiant! What a gigantic strength of will, eh? And to accuse a fellow like
that of not putting in the cap on purpose; it’s base and mean! You know he
deceived us last night, the cunning rascal. I never packed his bag for him,
and I never saw his pistol. He packed it himself. But he put me off my
guard like that, you see. Vera says you are going to let him stay on; I swear
there’s no danger, especially as we are always with him.”
“Who was by him at night?”
“I, and Burdovsky, and Kostia Lebedeff. Keller stayed a little while, and
then went over to Lebedeff’s to sleep. Ferdishenko slept at Lebedeff’s, too;
but he went away at seven o’clock. My father is always at Lebedeff’s; but
he has gone out just now. I dare say Lebedeff will be coming in here
directly; he has been looking for you; I don’t know what he wants. Shall we
let him in or not, if you are asleep? I’m going to have a nap, too. By-the-by,
such a curious thing happened. Burdovsky woke me at seven, and I met my
father just outside the room, so drunk, he didn’t even know me. He stood
before me like a log, and when he recovered himself, asked hurriedly how
Hippolyte was. ‘Yes,’ he said, when I told him, ‘that’s all very well, but I
really came to warn you that you must be very careful what you say before
Ferdishenko.’ Do you follow me, prince?”
“Yes. Is it really so? However, it’s all the same to us, of course.”
“Of course it is; we are not a secret society; and that being the case, it is
all the more curious that the general should have been on his way to wake
me up in order to tell me this.”
“Ferdishenko has gone, you say?”
“Yes, he went at seven o’clock. He came into the room on his way out; I
was watching just then. He said he was going to spend ‘the rest of the night’
at Wilkin’s; there’s a tipsy fellow, a friend of his, of that name. Well, I’m
off. Oh, here’s Lebedeff himself! The prince wants to go to sleep, Lukian
Timofeyovitch, so you may just go away again.”
“One moment, my dear prince, just one. I must absolutely speak to you
about something which is most grave,” said Lebedeff, mysteriously and
solemnly, entering the room with a bow and looking extremely important.
He had but just returned, and carried his hat in his hand. He looked
preoccupied and most unusually dignified.
The prince begged him to take a chair.
“I hear you have called twice; I suppose you are still worried about
yesterday’s affair.”
“What, about that boy, you mean? Oh dear no, yesterday my ideas were a
little—well—mixed. Today, I assure you, I shall not oppose in the slightest
degree any suggestions it may please you to make.”
“What’s up with you this morning, Lebedeff? You look so important and
dignified, and you choose your words so carefully,” said the prince, smiling.
“Nicolai Ardalionovitch!” said Lebedeff, in a most amiable tone of voice,
addressing the boy. “As I have a communication to make to the prince
which concerns only myself—”
“Of course, of course, not my affair. All right,” said Colia, and away he
went.
“I love that boy for his perception,” said Lebedeff, looking after him.
“My dear prince,” he continued, “I have had a terrible misfortune, either
last night or early this morning. I cannot tell the exact time.”
“What is it?”
“I have lost four hundred roubles out of my side pocket! They’re gone!”
said Lebedeff, with a sour smile.
“You’ve lost four hundred roubles? Oh! I’m sorry for that.”
“Yes, it is serious for a poor man who lives by his toil.”
“Of course, of course! How was it?”
“Oh, the wine is to blame, of course. I confess to you, prince, as I would
to Providence itself. Yesterday I received four hundred roubles from a
debtor at about five in the afternoon, and came down here by train. I had my
purse in my pocket. When I changed, I put the money into the pocket of my
plain clothes, intending to keep it by me, as I expected to have an applicant
for it in the evening.”
“It’s true then, Lebedeff, that you advertise to lend money on gold or
silver articles?”
“Yes, through an agent. My own name doesn’t appear. I have a large
family, you see, and at a small percentage—”
“Quite so, quite so. I only asked for information—excuse the question.
Go on.”
“Well, meanwhile that sick boy was brought here, and those guests came
in, and we had tea, and—well, we made merry—to my ruin! Hearing of
your birthday afterwards, and excited with the circumstances of the
evening, I ran upstairs and changed my plain clothes once more for my
uniform [Civil Service clerks in Russia wear uniform.]—you must have
noticed I had my uniform on all the evening? Well, I forgot the money in
the pocket of my old coat—you know when God will ruin a man he first of
all bereaves him of his senses—and it was only this morning at half-past
seven that I woke up and grabbed at my coat pocket, first thing. The pocket
was empty—the purse gone, and not a trace to be found!”
“Dear me! This is very unpleasant!”
“Unpleasant! Indeed it is. You have found a very appropriate expression,”
said Lebedeff, politely, but with sarcasm.
“But what’s to be done? It’s a serious matter,” said the prince,
thoughtfully. “Don’t you think you may have dropped it out of your pocket
whilst intoxicated?”
“Certainly. Anything is possible when one is intoxicated, as you neatly
express it, prince. But consider—if I, intoxicated or not, dropped an object
out of my pocket on to the ground, that object ought to remain on the
ground. Where is the object, then?”
“Didn’t you put it away in some drawer, perhaps?”
“I’ve looked everywhere, and turned out everything.”
“I confess this disturbs me a good deal. Someone must have picked it up,
then.”
“Or taken it out of my pocket—two alternatives.”
“It is very distressing, because who—? That’s the question!”
“Most undoubtedly, excellent prince, you have hit it—that is the very
question. How wonderfully you express the exact situation in a few words!”
“Come, come, Lebedeff, no sarcasm! It’s a serious—”
“Sarcasm!” cried Lebedeff, wringing his hands. “All right, all right, I’m
not angry. I’m only put out about this. Whom do you suspect?”
“That is a very difficult and complicated question. I cannot suspect the
servant, for she was in the kitchen the whole evening, nor do I suspect any
of my children.”
“I should think not. Go on.”
“Then it must be one of the guests.”
“Is such a thing possible?”
“Absolutely and utterly impossible—and yet, so it must be. But one thing
I am sure of, if it be a theft, it was committed, not in the evening when we
were all together, but either at night or early in the morning; therefore, by
one of those who slept here. Burdovsky and Colia I except, of course. They
did not even come into my room.”
“Yes, or even if they had! But who did sleep with you?”
“Four of us, including myself, in two rooms. The general, myself, Keller,
and Ferdishenko. One of us four it must have been. I don’t suspect myself,
though such cases have been known.”
“Oh! do go on, Lebedeff! Don’t drag it out so.”
“Well, there are three left, then—Keller firstly. He is a drunkard to begin
with, and a liberal (in the sense of other people’s pockets), otherwise with
more of the ancient knight about him than of the modern liberal. He was
with the sick man at first, but came over afterwards because there was no
place to lie down in the room and the floor was so hard.”
“You suspect him?”
“I did suspect him. When I woke up at half-past seven and tore my hair in
despair for my loss and carelessness, I awoke the general, who was sleeping
the sleep of innocence near me. Taking into consideration the sudden
disappearance of Ferdishenko, which was suspicious in itself, we decided to
search Keller, who was lying there sleeping like a top. Well, we searched
his clothes thoroughly, and not a farthing did we find; in fact, his pockets all
had holes in them. We found a dirty handkerchief, and a love-letter from
some scullery-maid. The general decided that he was innocent. We awoke
him for further inquiries, and had the greatest difficulty in making him
understand what was up. He opened his mouth and stared—he looked so
stupid and so absurdly innocent. It wasn’t Keller.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” said the prince, joyfully. “I was so afraid.”
“Afraid! Then you had some grounds for supposing he might be the
culprit?” said Lebedeff, frowning.
“Oh no—not a bit! It was foolish of me to say I was afraid! Don’t repeat
it please, Lebedeff, don’t tell anyone I said that!”
“My dear prince! your words lie in the lowest depth of my heart—it is
their tomb!” said Lebedeff, solemnly, pressing his hat to the region of his
heart.
“Thanks; very well. Then I suppose it’s Ferdishenko; that is, I mean, you
suspect Ferdishenko?”
“Whom else?” said Lebedeff, softly, gazing intently into the prince s
face.
“Of course—quite so, whom else? But what are the proofs?”
“We have evidence. In the first place, his mysterious disappearance at
seven o’clock, or even earlier.”
“I know, Colia told me that he had said he was off to—I forget the name,
some friend of his, to finish the night.”
“H’m! then Colia has spoken to you already?”
“Not about the theft.”
“He does not know of it; I have kept it a secret. Very well, Ferdishenko
went off to Wilkin’s. That is not so curious in itself, but here the evidence
opens out further. He left his address, you see, when he went. Now prince,
consider, why did he leave his address? Why do you suppose he went out of
his way to tell Colia that he had gone to Wilkin’s? Who cared to know that
he was going to Wilkin’s? No, no! prince, this is finesse, thieves’ finesse!
This is as good as saying, ‘There, how can I be a thief when I leave my
address? I’m not concealing my movements as a thief would.’ Do you
understand, prince?”
“Oh yes, but that is not enough.”
“Second proof. The scent turns out to be false, and the address given is a
sham. An hour after—that is at about eight, I went to Wilkin’s myself, and
there was no trace of Ferdishenko. The maid did tell me, certainly, that an
hour or so since someone had been hammering at the door, and had
smashed the bell; she said she would not open the door because she didn’t
want to wake her master; probably she was too lazy to get up herself. Such
phenomena are met with occasionally!”
“But is that all your evidence? It is not enough!”
“Well, prince, whom are we to suspect, then? Consider!” said Lebedeff
with almost servile amiability, smiling at the prince. There was a look of
cunning in his eyes, however.
“You should search your room and all the cupboards again,” said the
prince, after a moment or two of silent reflection.
“But I have done so, my dear prince!” said Lebedeff, more sweetly than
ever.
“H’m! why must you needs go up and change your coat like that?” asked
the prince, banging the table with his fist, in annoyance.
“Oh, don’t be so worried on my account, prince! I assure you I am not
worth it! At least, not I alone. But I see you are suffering on behalf of the
criminal too, for wretched Ferdishenko, in fact!”
“Of course you have given me a disagreeable enough thing to think
about,” said the prince, irritably, “but what are you going to do, since you
are so sure it was Ferdishenko?”
“But who else could it be, my very dear prince?” repeated Lebedeff, as
sweet as sugar again. “If you don’t wish me to suspect Mr. Burdovsky?”
“Of course not.”
“Nor the general? Ha, ha, ha!”
“Nonsense!” said the prince, angrily, turning round upon him.
“Quite so, nonsense! Ha, ha, ha! dear me! He did amuse me, did the
general! We went off on the hot scent to Wilkin’s together, you know; but I
must first observe that the general was even more thunderstruck than I
myself this morning, when I awoke him after discovering the theft; so much
so that his very face changed—he grew red and then pale, and at length
flew into a paroxysm of such noble wrath that I assure you I was quite
surprised! He is a most generous-hearted man! He tells lies by the
thousands, I know, but it is merely a weakness; he is a man of the highest
feelings; a simple-minded man too, and a man who carries the conviction of
innocence in his very appearance. I love that man, sir; I may have told you
so before; it is a weakness of mine. Well—he suddenly stopped in the
middle of the road, opened out his coat and bared his breast. ‘Search me,’
he says, ‘you searched Keller; why don’t you search me too? It is only fair!’
says he. And all the while his legs and hands were trembling with anger,
and he as white as a sheet all over! So I said to him, ‘Nonsense, general; if
anybody but yourself had said that to me, I’d have taken my head, my own
head, and put it on a large dish and carried it round to anyone who
suspected you; and I should have said: “There, you see that head? It’s my
head, and I’ll go bail with that head for him! Yes, and walk through the fire
for him, too.” There,’ says I, ‘that’s how I’d answer for you, general!’ Then
he embraced me, in the middle of the street, and hugged me so tight (crying
over me all the while) that I coughed fit to choke! ‘You are the one friend
left to me amid all my misfortunes,’ says he. Oh, he’s a man of sentiment,
that! He went on to tell me a story of how he had been accused, or
suspected, of stealing five hundred thousand roubles once, as a young man;
and how, the very next day, he had rushed into a burning, blazing house and
saved the very count who suspected him, and Nina Alexandrovna (who was
then a young girl), from a fiery death. The count embraced him, and that
was how he came to marry Nina Alexandrovna, he said. As for the money, it
was found among the ruins next day in an English iron box with a secret
lock; it had got under the floor somehow, and if it had not been for the fire
it would never have been found! The whole thing is, of course, an absolute
fabrication, though when he spoke of Nina Alexandrovna he wept! She’s a
grand woman, is Nina Alexandrovna, though she is very angry with me!”
“Are you acquainted with her?”
“Well, hardly at all. I wish I were, if only for the sake of justifying myself
in her eyes. Nina Alexandrovna has a grudge against me for, as she thinks,
encouraging her husband in drinking; whereas in reality I not only do not
encourage him, but I actually keep him out of harm’s way, and out of bad
company. Besides, he’s my friend, prince, so that I shall not lose sight of
him, again. Where he goes, I go. He’s quite given up visiting the captain’s
widow, though sometimes he thinks sadly of her, especially in the morning,
when he’s putting on his boots. I don’t know why it’s at that time. But he
has no money, and it’s no use his going to see her without. Has he borrowed
any money from you, prince?”
“No, he has not.”
“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.”
“Do you ever give him money?”
“Prince! Money! Why I would give that man not only my money, but my
very life, if he wanted it. Well, perhaps that’s exaggeration; not life, we’ll
say, but some illness, a boil or a bad cough, or anything of that sort, I would
stand with pleasure, for his sake; for I consider him a great man fallen—
money, indeed!”
“H’m, then you do give him money?”
“N-no, I have never given him money, and he knows well that I will
never give him any; because I am anxious to keep him out of intemperate
ways. He is going to town with me now; for you must know I am off to
Petersburg after Ferdishenko, while the scent is hot; I’m certain he is there.
I shall let the general go one way, while I go the other; we have so arranged
matters in order to pop out upon Ferdishenko, you see, from different sides.
But I am going to follow that naughty old general and catch him, I know
where, at a certain widow’s house; for I think it will be a good lesson, to put
him to shame by catching him with the widow.”
“Oh, Lebedeff, don’t, don’t make any scandal about it!” said the prince,
much agitated, and speaking in a low voice.
“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.”
Lebedeff clasped his hands in supplication.
“What help do you want from me? You may be certain that I am most
anxious to understand you, Lebedeff.”
“I felt sure of that, or I should not have come to you. We might manage it
with the help of Nina Alexandrovna, so that he might be closely watched in
his own house. Unfortunately I am not on terms… otherwise… but Nicolai
Ardalionovitch, who adores you with all his youthful soul, might help, too.”
“No, no! Heaven forbid that we should bring Nina Alexandrovna into this
business! Or Colia, either. But perhaps I have not yet quite understood you,
Lebedeff?”
Lebedeff made an impatient movement.
“But there is nothing to understand! Sympathy and tenderness, that is all
—that is all our poor invalid requires! You will permit me to consider him
an invalid?”
“Yes, it shows delicacy and intelligence on your part.”
“I will explain my idea by a practical example, to make it clearer. You
know the sort of man he is. At present his only failing is that he is crazy
about that captain’s widow, and he cannot go to her without money, and I
mean to catch him at her house today—for his own good; but supposing it
was not only the widow, but that he had committed a real crime, or at least
some very dishonourable action (of which he is, of course, incapable), I
repeat that even in that case, if he were treated with what I may call
generous tenderness, one could get at the whole truth, for he is very soft-
hearted! Believe me, he would betray himself before five days were out; he
would burst into tears, and make a clean breast of the matter; especially if
managed with tact, and if you and his family watched his every step, so to
speak. Oh, my dear prince,” Lebedeff added most emphatically, “I do not
positively assert that he has… I am ready, as the saying is, to shed my last
drop of blood for him this instant; but you will admit that debauchery,
drunkenness, and the captain’s widow, all these together may lead him very
far.”
“I am, of course, quite ready to add my efforts to yours in such a case,”
said the prince, rising; “but I confess, Lebedeff, that I am terribly perplexed.
Tell me, do you still think… plainly, you say yourself that you suspect Mr.
Ferdishenko?”
Lebedeff clasped his hands once more.
“Why, who else could I possibly suspect? Who else, most outspoken
prince?” he replied, with an unctuous smile.
Muishkin frowned, and rose from his seat.
“You see, Lebedeff, a mistake here would be a dreadful thing. This
Ferdishenko, I would not say a word against him, of course; but, who
knows? Perhaps it really was he? I mean he really does seem to be a more
likely man than… than any other.”
Lebedeff strained his eyes and ears to take in what the prince was saying.
The latter was frowning more and more, and walking excitedly up and
down, trying not to look at Lebedeff.
“You see,” he said, “I was given to understand that Ferdishenko was that
sort of man,—that one can’t say everything before him. One has to take
care not to say too much, you understand? I say this to prove that he really
is, so to speak, more likely to have done this than anyone else, eh? You
understand? The important thing is, not to make a mistake.”
“And who told you this about Ferdishenko?”
“Oh, I was told. Of course I don’t altogether believe it. I am very sorry
that I should have had to say this, because I assure you I don’t believe it
myself; it is all nonsense, of course. It was stupid of me to say anything
about it.”
“You see, it is very important, it is most important to know where you got
this report from,” said Lebedeff, excitedly. He had risen from his seat, and
was trying to keep step with the prince, running after him, up and down.
“Because look here, prince, I don’t mind telling you now that as we were
going along to Wilkin’s this morning, after telling me what you know about
the fire, and saving the count and all that, the general was pleased to drop
certain hints to the same effect about Ferdishenko, but so vaguely and
clumsily that I thought better to put a few questions to him on the matter,
with the result that I found the whole thing was an invention of his
excellency’s own mind. Of course, he only lies with the best intentions;
still, he lies. But, such being the case, where could you have heard the same
report? It was the inspiration of the moment with him, you understand, so
who could have told you? It is an important question, you see!”
“It was Colia told me, and his father told him at about six this morning.
They met at the threshold, when Colia was leaving the room for something
or other.” The prince told Lebedeff all that Colia had made known to
himself, in detail.
“There now, that’s what we may call scent!” said Lebedeff, rubbing his
hands and laughing silently. “I thought it must be so, you see. The general
interrupted his innocent slumbers, at six o’clock, in order to go and wake
his beloved son, and warn him of the dreadful danger of companionship
with Ferdishenko. Dear me! what a dreadfully dangerous man Ferdishenko
must be, and what touching paternal solicitude, on the part of his
excellency, ha! ha! ha!”
“Listen, Lebedeff,” began the prince, quite overwhelmed; “do act quietly
—don’t make a scandal, Lebedeff, I ask you—I entreat you! No one must
