"You knew Pavlishchev, too?"
"He was a rare man, but I was a personal witness. I blessed him on his deathbed . . ."
"My father died while he was on trial," the prince observed
again, "though I could never find out precisely for what. He died in the hospital."
"Oh, it was that case to do with Private Kolpakov, and without doubt the prince would have been vindicated."
"Really? You know for certain?" the prince asked with particular curiosity.
"What else?" cried the general. "The court recessed without any decision. An impossible case! A mysterious case, one might say: Staff-captain Larionov, the commander of the detachment, dies; the prince is assigned to perform his duties temporarily. Good. Private Kolpakov commits a theft—of footgear from a comrade— and drinks it up. Good. The prince—and, mark you, this was in the presence of a sergeant-major and a corporal—reprimands Kolpakov and threatens him with a birching. Very good. Kolpakov goes to the barracks, lies down on his bunk, and a quarter of an hour later he dies. Splendid, but it's an unexpected, almost impossible case. Thus and so, Kolpakov is buried; the prince makes a report, after which Kolpakov is struck from the rolls. What could be better, you might think? But exactly six months later, at a brigade review, Private Kolpakov turns up, as if nothing had happened, in the third detachment of the second battalion of the Novozemlyansky infantry regiment,30 same brigade and same division!"
"How's that?" cried the prince, beside himself with astonishment.
"It's not so, it's a mistake!" Nina Alexandrovna turned to him suddenly, looking at him almost in anguish. "Mon mari se trompe."*
"But, my dear, se trompe is easy to say, but try and decide such a case yourself! They were all deadlocked. I'd be the first to say qu'on se trompe. But, to my misfortune, I was a witness and served personally on the commission. All the confrontations showed that this was the very same, absolutely the very same Private Kolpakov who had been buried six months earlier with the routine ceremony and to the roll of drums. The case is indeed a rare one, almost impossible, I agree, but . . ."
"Papa, your dinner is ready," Varvara Ardalionovna announced, coming into the room.
"Ah, that's splendid, excellent! I'm really hungry . . . But this case, you might say, is even psychological ..."
"The soup will get cold again," Varya said impatiently.
*My husband is mistaken.
"Coming, coming," the general muttered, leaving the room. "And despite all inquiries . . ." could still be heard in the corridor.
"You'll have to excuse Ardalion Alexandrovich a great deal if you stay with us," Nina Alexandrovna said to the prince, "though he won't bother you very much; and he dines by himself. You must agree, each of us has his own shortcomings and his own . .. special features—some, perhaps, still more than those at whom fingers are habitually pointed. There's one thing I want very much to ask you: if my husband ever addresses you concerning the payment of the rent, tell him you have given it to me. That is, whatever you might give to Ardalion Alexandrovich would go on your account in any case, but I ask you only for the sake of accuracy . . . What is it, Varya?"
Varya came back into the room and silently handed her mother the portrait of Nastasya Filippovna. Nina Alexandrovna gave a start and began studying it as if in fright, but then with an overwhelmingly bitter feeling. In the end she looked questioningly at Varya.
"She made him a present of it herself today," said Varya, "and this evening everything is to be decided."
"This evening!" Nina Alexandrovna repeated in a half-whisper, as if in despair. "So, then? There are no more doubts here, nor any hopes: she has announced it all by the portrait . . . And what, did he show it to you himself?" she added in surprise.
"You know we've hardly said a word to each other for a whole month now. Ptitsyn told me about it all, and the portrait was lying there on the floor by the table. I picked it up."
"Prince," Nina Alexandrovna suddenly turned to him, "I wanted to ask you—in fact, that's why I invited you here—have you known my son for a long time? He told me, I believe, that you arrived from somewhere only today?"
The prince explained briefly about himself, omitting the greater part. Nina Alexandrovna and Varya heard him out.
"I'm not trying to ferret out anything about Gavrila Ardalionovich in asking you," observed Nina Alexandrovna, "you must make no mistake on that account. If there is anything that he cannot tell me himself, I have no wish to try and find it out behind his back. What I mean, in fact, is that earlier, in your presence and after you left, Ganya said in answer to my question about you: 'He knows everything, no need for ceremony!' Now, what does that mean? That is, I'd like to know to what extent . . ."
Suddenly Ganya and Ptitsyn came in; Nina Alexandrovna at once fell silent. The prince remained in the chair next to her, and Varya stepped aside; the portrait of Nastasya Filippovna lay most conspicuously on Nina Alexandrovna's worktable, directly in front of her. Ganya saw it, frowned, vexedly took it from the table, and flung it onto his desk, which was at the other end of the room.
"Today, Ganya?" Nina Alexandrovna suddenly asked.
"Today what?" Ganya gave a start and suddenly fell upon the prince. "Ah, I understand, you're into it here, too! . . . What is it with you, some sort of illness or something? Can't help yourself? But understand, finally, Your Highness ..."
"I'm to blame here, Ganya, and nobody else," Ptitsyn interrupted.
Ganya looked at him questioningly.
"But it's better, Ganya, the more so as the matter's concluded on one side," Ptitsyn murmured and, stepping away, sat down at the table, took some sort of scribbled-over paper from his pocket, and began studying it intently. Ganya stood in gloom, waiting uneasily for a family scene. He did not even think of apologizing to the prince.
"If it's all concluded, then, of course, Ivan Petrovich is right," said Nina Alexandrovna. "Don't frown, please, and don't be vexed, Ganya, I won't ask about anything that you don't want to talk about yourself, and I assure you that I am completely resigned, kindly don't worry."
She said this without taking her eyes from her work and, as it seemed, quite calmly. Ganya was surprised, but remained warily silent and looked at his mother, waiting for her to speak her mind more clearly. Family scenes had already cost him much too dearly. Nina Alexandrovna noticed this wariness and added, with a bitter smile:
"You still doubt and don't believe me. You needn't worry, there will be no tears or entreaties, as before, at least not on my part. All I want is for you to be happy and you know that; I am resigned to fate, but my heart will always be with you, whether we stay together or must part. Of course, I can only answer for myself; you cannot ask the same of your sister ..."
"Ah, her again!" cried Ganya, looking mockingly and hatefully at his sister. "Mama! Again I swear to you something on which you have my word already: no one will ever dare to mistreat you while I am here, while I am alive. Whoever it may concern, I shall insist on the fullest respect, whoever crosses our threshold ..."
Ganya was so overjoyed that he looked at his mother almost conciliatingly, almost tenderly.
"I wasn't afraid for myself, Ganya, you know that. It's not myself I've worried and suffered over all this time. They say it will all be concluded tonight? What will be concluded?"
"Tonight, at her place, she has promised to announce whether she gives me her consent or not," replied Ganya.
"For almost three weeks we've avoided speaking of it, and it was better. Now, when everything's already concluded, I will allow myself to ask just one thing: how could she give you her consent and even present you with her portrait, when you don't love her? Can it be that she, being so . . . so . . ."