The Adolescent

But she was unable to finish; the prince was horrified and almost trembled with fear:

“Après, après, n’est-ce pas? Chère amie! ” 103; he repeated, holding his hands up to her.

I can’t express how unpleasantly her outburst also affected me. I said nothing in reply and contented myself only with a cold and grave bow; then I sat down at the table and even deliberately began talking about other things, about some foolishness, started laughing and cracking jokes . . . The old man was obviously grateful to me and became rapturously merry. But his merriment, though rapturous, was somehow fragile and might be supplanted at any moment by complete dispiritedness; that was clear from the first glance.

“Cher enfant, I hear you were ill . . . Ah, pardon! I hear you’ve been occupied all the while with spiritism?”41

“Never dreamed of it,” I smiled.

“No? Then who was talking about spir-it-ism?”

“That clerk here, Pyotr Ippolitovich, spoke to you about it earlier,” A

“Oui, oui, il est charmant104 . . . he knows anecdotes, but we’d better invite him later. We’ll invite him, and he’ll tell us everything, maisaprès. Imagine, earlier they were setting the table, and he says, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t fly away, we’re not spiritists.’ Can spiritists make tables fly?”

“I really don’t know; they say they get all four legs off the ground.”

“Mais c’est terrible ce que tu dis,”105 he looked at me in fright.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s nonsense.”

“I say so myself. Nastasya Stepanovna Salomeeva . . . you do know her . . . ah, no, you don’t know her . . . imagine, she also believes in spiritism, and imagine, chère enfant,” he turned to A

“What nice things you say, Prince, as always,” I exclaimed, trying to laugh sincerely.

“N’est-ce pas? Je ne parle pas trop, mais je dis bien.” 106

“I’ll bring Pyotr Ippolitovich,” A

“Cher ami! Oh, if only I could see the two of them here together! Oh, cher enfant! ”

“Calm yourself, Prince . . .”

“Yes, yes, but . . . we’ll reconcile them, n’est-ce pas? It’s an empty little quarrel of two most worthy women, n’est-ce pas? I put my hopes in you alone . . . We’ll straighten it all out here; and what a strange apartment you have here,” he looked around almost fearfully, “and, you know, this landlord . . . he’s got such a face . . . Tell me, he’s not dangerous?”

“The landlord? Oh, no! how could he be dangerous?”

“C’est ça.107 So much the better. Il semble qu’il est bête, ce gentilhomme.108 Cher enfant, for Christ’s sake, don’t tell A

“What about it?”

“Rien, rien du tout . . . Mais je suis libre ici, n’est-ce pas? 109 What do you think, can anything happen to me here . . . of the same sort?”

“But I assure you, dearest Prince . . . for pity’s sake!”

“Mon ami! Mon enfant! ” he exclaimed suddenly, clasping his hands before him and no longer hiding his fear. “If you do indeed have something . . . documents . . . in short, if you have anything to tell me, then don’t tell me; for God’s sake, don’t tell me anything; better not tell me at all . . . for as long as you can, don’t tell me . . .”

He was about to rush and embrace me; tears poured down his face; I can’t express how my heart was wrung: the poor old man was like a pathetic, weak, frightened child, stolen from his own nest by gypsies and taken to strangers. But we were kept from embracing: the door opened, and in came A

“Arkady Makarovich, allow me to introduce you,” A

“I’m only too well acquainted with your dear brother already,” I said distinctly, especially emphasizing the words “only too well.”

“Ah, there’s a terrible mistake here! And I do apo-lo-gize, my dear And . . . Andrei Makarovich,” the young man began to maunder, approaching me with an extraordinarily casual air and taking hold of my hand, which I was unable to withdraw. “It’s all my Stepan’s fault. He a

And the brazen young man even dared to put one arm around my shoulder, which was the height of familiarity. I drew back, but, in my embarrassment, preferred to leave quickly without saying a word. Going into my room, I sat down on the bed, thoughtful and agitated. The intrigue was suffocating me, yet I couldn’t just dumbfound A

III

AS I EXPECTED, she came into my room herself, having left the prince with her brother, who began telling him some society gossip, the most recent and fresh-baked, and instantly cheered up the impressionable old man. I got up from the bed silently and with a questioning look.

“I’ve told you everything, Arkady Makarovich,” she began directly. “Our fate is in your hands.”

“But I also warned you that I can’t . . . The most sacred duties prevent me from fulfilling your expectations . . .”

“Oh? So that’s your answer? Well, let me perish, but what of the old man? What are your expectations: will he lose his mind by evening?”

“No, he’ll lose his mind if I show him his daughter’s letter, in which she consults a lawyer about declaring her father insane!” I exclaimed vehemently. “That’s what he won’t be able to bear. You should know that he doesn’t believe this letter, he’s already told me!”

I lied about his telling me; but it was opportune.

“Already told you? Just as I thought! In that case, I’m lost. He was weeping just now and asking to be taken home.”

“Tell me, what does your plan in fact consist in?” I asked insistently.

She blushed, from wounded arrogance, so to speak, though she controlled herself:

“With this letter of his daughter’s in our hands, we are justified in the eyes of the world. I’ll send word at once to Prince V——sky and Boris Mikhailovich Pelishchev, his childhood friends; they’re both respectable men with influence in the world, and I know that two years ago they were already indignant at certain actions of his merciless and greedy daughter. They will, of course, reconcile him with his daughter, at my request, and I myself will insist on it; but, on the other hand, the state of affairs will change completely. Besides, then my relations, the Fanariotovs, as I expect, will venture to support my rights. But for me his happiness comes before everything; let him understand, finally, and appreciate who is really devoted to him! Unquestionably, I’m counting most of all on your influence, Arkady Makarovich; you love him so much . . . And who else loves him except you and I? You’re all he talked about these last few days; he pined for you, you’re ‘his young friend’ . . . It goes without saying that, for the rest of my life, my gratitude will know no bounds . . .”