"I must admit, prince, I was a little put out to see you up and about like thisI expected to find you in bed; but I give you my word, I was only annoyed for an instant, before I collected my thoughts properly. I am always wiser on second thoughts, and I dare say you are the same. I assure you I am as glad to see you well as though you were my own son,yes, and more; and if you don't believe me the more shame to you, and it's not my fault. But that spiteful boy delights in playing all sorts of tricks. You are his patron, it seems. Well, I warn you that one fine morning I shall deprive myself of the pleasure of his further acquaintance."
"What have I done wrong now?" cried Colia. "What was the good of telling you that the prince was nearly well again? You would not have believed me; it was so much more interesting to picture him on his deathbed."
"How long do you remain here, prince?" asked Madame Epanchin.
"All the summer, and perhaps longer."
"You are alone, aren't you,not married?"
"No, I'm not married!" replied the prince, smiling at the ingenuousness of this little feeler.
"Oh, you needn't laugh! These things do happen, you know! Now thenwhy didn't you come to us? We have a wing quite empty. But just as you like, of course. Do you lease it from him?this fellow, I mean," she added, nodding towards Lebedeff. "And why does he always wriggle so?"
At that moment Vera, carrying the baby in her arms as usual, came out of the house, on to the terrace. Lebedeff kept fidgeting among the chairs, and did not seem to know what to do with himself, though he had no intention of going away. He no sooner caught sight of his daughter, than he rushed in her direction, waving his arms to keep her away; he even forgot himself so far as to stamp his foot.
"Is he mad?" asked Madame Epanchin suddenly.
"No, he"
"Perhaps he is drunk? Your company is rather peculiar," she added, with a glance at the other guests.
"But what a pretty girl! Who is she?"
"That is Lebedeff's daughterVera Lukianovna."
"Indeed? She looks very sweet. I should like to make her acquaintance."
The words were hardly out of her mouth, when Lebedeff dragged Vera forward, in order to present her.
"Orphans, poor orphans!" he began in a pathetic voice.
"The child she carries is an orphan, too. She is Vera's sister, my daughter Luboff. The day this babe was born, six weeks ago, my wife died, by the will of God Almighty. YesVera takes her mother's place, though she is but her sisternothing morenothing more"
"And you! You are nothing more than a fool, if you'll excuse me! Well! well! you know that yourself, I expect," said the lady indignantly.
Lebedeff bowed low. "It is the truth," he replied, with extreme respect.
"Oh, Mr. Lebedeff, I am told you lecture on the Apocalypse. Is it true?" asked Aglaya.
"Yes, that is sofor the last fifteen years."
"I have heard of you, and I think read of you in the newspapers."
"No, that was another commentator, whom the papers named. He is dead, however, and I have taken his place," said the other, much delighted.
"We are neighbours, so will you be so kind as to come over one day and explain the Apocalypse to me?" said Aglaya. "I do not understand it in the least."
"Allow me to warn you," interposed General Ivolgin, "that he is the greatest charlatan on earth." He had taken the chair next to the girl, and was impatient to begin talking. "No doubt there are pleasures and amusements peculiar to the country," he continued, "and to listen to a pretended student holding forth on the book of the Revelations may be as good as any other. It may even be original. Butyou seem to be looking at me with some surprisemay I introduce myselfGeneral IvolginI carried you in my arms as a baby"
"Delighted, I'm sure," said Aglaya; "I am acquainted with Varvara Ardalionovna and Nina Alexandrovna." She was trying hard to restrain herself from laughing.
Mrs. Epanchin flushed up; some accumulation of spleen in her suddenly needed an outlet. She could not bear this General Ivolgin whom she had once known, long agoin society.
"You are deviating from the truth, sir, as usual!" she remarked, boiling over with indignation; "you never carried her in your life!"
"You have forgotten, mother," said Aglaya, suddenly. "He really did carry me about,in Tver, you know. I was six years old, I remember. He made me a bow and arrow, and I shot a pigeon. Don't you remember shooting a pigeon, you and I, one day?"
"Yes, and he made me a cardboard helmet, and a little wooden swordI remember!" said Adelaida.
"Yes, I remember too!" said Alexandra. "You quarrelled about the wounded pigeon, and Adelaida was put in the corner, and stood there with her helmet and sword and all."
"Yes, and he made me a cardboard helmet, and a little wooden swordI remember!" said Adelaida.
"Yes, I remember too!" said Alexandra. "You quarrelled about the wounded pigeon, and Adelaida was put in the corner, and stood there with her helmet and sword and all."
The poor general had merely made the remark about having carried Aglaya in his arms because he always did so begin a conversation with young people. But it happened that this time he had really hit upon the truth, though he had himself entirely forgotten the fact. But when Adelaida and Aglaya recalled the episode of the pigeon, his mind became filled with memories, and it is impossible to describe how this poor old man, usually half drunk, was moved by the recollection.