"It's not altogether pleasant for me," said the prince.
"Ah, Prince, it's of the utmost necessity for me!" Ganya began to plead. "Maybe she'll answer . . . Believe me, only in the utmost, the very utmost case, would I turn to . . . Who else can I send it with? . . . It's very important. . . It's terribly important for me . . ."
Ganya was terribly afraid that the prince would not agree and kept peering into his eyes with cowardly entreaty.
"Very well, I'll deliver it."
"But only so that nobody notices," the now joyful Ganya pleaded. "And another thing, Prince, I'm relying on your word of honor, eh?"
"I won't show it to anybody," said the prince.
"The note isn't sealed, but . . ." the much too flustered Ganya let slip and stopped in embarrassment.
"Oh, I won't read it," the prince replied with perfect simplicity, took the portrait, and walked out of the office.
Ganya, left alone, clutched his head. "One word from her, and I . . . and I really may break it off! . . ."
He started pacing up and down the office, too excited and expectant to sit down to his papers again.
The prince pondered as he went; he was unpleasantly struck by the errand, and unpleasantly struck by the thought of Ganya's note to Aglaya. But two rooms away from the drawing room he suddenly stopped, seemed to remember something, looked around, went over to the window, closer to the light, and began to look at Nastasya Filippovna's portrait.
It was as if he wanted to unriddle something hidden in that face which had also struck him earlier. The earlier impression had scarcely left him, and now it was as if he were hastening to verify something. That face, extraordinary for its beauty and for something else, now struck him still more. There seemed to be a boundless pride and contempt, almost hatred, in that face, and at the same time something trusting, something surprisingly simple-hearted; the contrast even seemed to awaken some sort of compassion as one looked at those features. That dazzling beauty was even unbearable, the beauty of the pale face, the nearly hollow
cheeks and burning eyes—strange beauty! The prince gazed for a moment, then suddenly roused himself, looked around, hastily put the portrait to his lips and kissed it. When he entered the drawing room a minute later, his face was completely calm.
But as he was going into the dining room (one room away from the drawing room), in the doorway he almost ran into Aglaya, who was coming out. She was alone.
"Gavrila Ardalionovich asked me to give you this," said the prince, handing her the note.
Aglaya stopped, took the note, and looked at the prince somehow strangely. There was not the least embarrassment in her look, perhaps only a glimpse of a certain surprise, and even that seemed to refer only to the prince. With her look Aglaya seemed to demand an accounting from him—in what way had he ended up in this affair together with Ganya?—and to demand it calmly and haughtily. For two or three moments they stood facing each other; finally something mocking barely showed in her face; she smiled slightly and walked past him.
Mrs. Epanchin studied the portrait of Nastasya Filippovna for some time silently and with a certain tinge of scorn, holding it out in front of her at an extreme and ostentatious distance from her eyes.
"Yes, good-looking," she said at last, "even very. I've seen her twice, only from a distance. So that's the sort of beauty you appreciate?" she suddenly turned to the prince.
"Yes . . . that sort . . ." the prince replied with some effort.
"Meaning precisely that sort?"
"Precisely that sort."
"Why so?"
"There's so much suffering ... in that face . .." the prince said, as if inadvertently, as if he were talking to himself and not answering a question.
"You may be raving, however," Mrs. Epanchin decided, and with an arrogant gesture she flung the portrait down on the table.
Alexandra picked it up, Adelaida came over to her, and they both began to study it. Just then Aglaya came back to the drawing room.
"Such power!" Adelaida cried all at once, peering greedily at the portrait over her sister's shoulder.
"Where? What power?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna asked sharply.
"Such beauty has power," Adelaida said hotly. "You can overturn the world with such beauty."
She went pensively to her easel. Aglaya gave the portrait only a fleeting look, narrowed her eyes, thrust out her lower lip, and sat down to one side, her arms folded.
Mrs. Epanchin rang.
"Send Gavrila Ardalionovich here, he's in the office," she ordered the entering servant.
"Maman!" Alexandra exclaimed significantly.
"I want to say a couple of words to him—and enough!" Mrs. Epanchin snapped quickly, stopping the objection. She was visibly irritated. "You see, Prince, we now have all these secrets here. All these secrets! It's required, it's some sort of etiquette, a stupid thing. And that in a matter which requires the greatest openness, clarity, and honesty. Marriages are in the works, I don't like these marriages . . ."
"Maman, what are you saying?" Alexandra again tried to stop her.
"What's wrong, daughter dear? Do you like it yourself? And so what if the prince can hear, since we're friends. I am his, at least. God seeks people, good people, of course, he doesn't need the wicked and capricious—especially the capricious, who decide one thing today and say something else tomorrow. You understand, Alexandra Ivanovna? They say I'm odd, Prince, but I have discernment. Because the heart is the main thing, the rest is nonsense. Brains are also necessary, of course . . . maybe brains are the main thing. Don't smile, Aglaya, I'm not contradicting myself: a fool with a heart and no brains is as unhappy a fool as a fool with brains but no heart. An old truth. I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we're both unhappy, and we both suffer."
"What are you so unhappy about, maman?" Adelaida, who alone of the whole company seemed not to have lost her cheerful disposition, could not help asking.
"First of all, about my learned daughters," Mrs. Epanchin snapped, "and since that is enough in itself, there's no point in expatiating on the rest. There's been enough verbosity. We'll see how the two of you (I don't count Aglaya), with your brains and verbosity, are going to find your way and whether you, my much esteemed Alexandra Ivanovna, are going to be happy with your honorable gentleman . . . Ah! ..." she exclaimed, seeing the entering Ganya. "Here comes one more matrimony. How do you do!" she responded to Ganya's bow without inviting him to sit down. "Are you embarking upon matrimony?"
"Matrimony?... How? ... What matrimony? ..." Gavrila Ardalionovich murmured in stupefaction. He was terribly bewildered.
"Are you getting married, I'm asking, if you like that phrasing better?"
"N-no . . . I'm . . . n-not," Gavrila Ardalionovich lied, and a flush of shame spread over his face. He glanced fleetingly at Aglaya, who was sitting to one side, and quickly looked away. Aglaya was looking at him coldly, intently, calmly, not taking her eyes off him, and observing his confusion.
"No? Did you say no?" the implacable Lizaveta Prokofyevna persistently interrogated him. "Enough! I'll remember that today, Wednesday afternoon, you said 'No' to my question. Is today Wednesday?"
"I think so, maman," replied Adelaida.
"They never know what day it is. What's the date?"
"The twenty-seventh," replied Ganya.
"The twenty-seventh? That's good, for certain considerations. Good-bye. I suppose you have many things to do, and for me it's time to dress and be on my way. Take your portrait. Give my respects to the unfortunate Nina Alexandrovna. Good-bye, Prince, my dear boy! Come more often, and I'll be sure to call on old Belokonsky and tell her about you. And listen, my dear: I believe God brought you to Petersburg from Switzerland precisely for me. Maybe you'll have other things to do, but it was mainly for me. That's precisely how God reckoned. Good-bye, my dears. Alexandra, stop by for a minute."