"You mean my opinion, Aglaya Ivanovna?"
"Of the hedgehog."
"That is ... I think, Aglaya Ivanovna, that you want to know how I took . . . the hedgehog ... or, better to say, how I looked at . . . this sending ... of the hedgehog, that is ... in which case, I suppose that... in a word . . ."
He ran out of breath and fell silent.
"Well, you haven't said much," Aglaya paused for five seconds. "Very well, I agree to drop the hedgehog; but I'm very glad that I can finally put an end to all the accumulated misunderstandings. Allow me, finally, to learn from you yourself and personally: are you proposing to me or not?"
"Oh, Lord!" escaped Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
The prince gave a start and drew back; Ivan Fyodorovich was dumbstruck; the sisters frowned.
"Don't lie, Prince, tell the truth. On account of you, I'm hounded by strange interrogations; are there any grounds for those interrogations? Well?"
"I haven't proposed to you, Aglaya Ivanovna," said the prince, suddenly becoming animated, "but . . . you know yourself how much I love you and believe in you . . . even now ..."
"My question was: are you asking for my hand or not?"
"I am," the prince replied, his heart sinking.
A general and strong commotion followed.
"This is all not right, my dear friend," Ivan Fyodorovich said in great agitation, "this . . . this is almost impossible, if it's so, Glasha . . . Forgive me, Prince, forgive me, my dear! . . . Lizaveta Prokofyevna!" he turned to his wife for help. "We must . . . look into it . . ."
"I refuse, I refuse!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna waved her hands.
"Allow me to speak as well, maman;I also mean something in such a matter: the great moment of my destiny is being decided" (that is precisely how Aglaya put it), "and I myself want to know, and besides, I'm glad it's in front of everybody . . . Allow me to ask you, Prince, if you do 'nurture such intentions,' precisely how do you propose to ensure my happiness?"
"I don't really know how to answer you, Aglaya Ivanovna; there . . . what is there to say? And ... is there any need?"
"You seem to be embarrassed and breathless; rest a little and gather fresh strength; drink a glass of water; anyhow, tea will be served presently."
"I love you, Aglaya Ivanovna, I love you very much; I love only you and . . . don't joke, please, I love you very much."
"But, nevertheless, this is an important matter; we're not children, we must look positively . . . Take the trouble now to tell us, what does your fortune amount to?"
"Now, now, now, Aglaya. What are you doing! This is wrong, wrong ..." Ivan Fyodorovich muttered fearfully.
"A disgrace!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna whispered loudly.
"She's lost her mind!" Alexandra also whispered loudly.
"My fortune . . . meaning money?" the prince was surprised.
"Precisely."
"I ... I now have one hundred and thirty-five thousand," the prince murmured, turning red.
"That's all?" Aglaya was loudly and frankly surprised, not blushing in the least. "Anyhow, never mind; particularly if one is economical . . . Do you intend to enter the service?"
"I wanted to pass an examination to be a private tutor ..."
"Very appropriate; of course, it will increase our means. Do you plan to be a kammerjunker?"
"A kammerjunker? I've never imagined it, but. . ."
But here the two sisters, unable to help themselves, burst out laughing. Adelaida had long noticed in Aglaya's twitching features the signs of rapidly approaching and irrepressible laughter, which she had so far been holding back with all her might. Aglaya looked menacingly at the laughing sisters, but could not stand it a second longer and dissolved into the maddest, almost hysterical laughter; in the end she jumped up and ran out of the room.
"I just knew it was only for fun and nothing more!" cried Adelaida. "Right from the beginning, from the hedgehog."
"No, this I will not allow, I will not allow it!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly boiled over with anger and quickly rushed out in Aglaya's wake. The two sisters at once ran after her. The prince and the father of the family were left in the room.
"This, this . . . could you have imagined anything like it, Lev Nikolaich?" the general cried out sharply, evidently not understanding himself what he wanted to say. "No, speaking seriously, seriously?"
"I see that Aglaya Ivanovna was making fun of me," the prince replied sadly.
"Wait, brother; I'll go, but you wait. . . because . . . you at least explain to me, Lev Nikolaich, you at least: how did all this happen and what does it all mean, so to speak, as a whole? You'll agree, brother, I am her father, I am after all her father, which is why I don't understand a thing; so you at least explain it."
"I love Aglaya Ivanovna; she knows that and . . . has known it, I think, for a long time."
The general heaved his shoulders.
"Strange, strange . . . and you love her very much?"
"Yes, very much."
"Strange, strange, I find it all. That is, it's such a surprise and a blow that . . . You see, my dear, I'm not referring to your fortune (though I did expect that you had a bit more), but ... for me, my daughter's happiness . . . finally ... are you able, so to speak, to make that . . . happiness? And . . . and . . . what is it, a joke or the truth on her side? Not on yours, that is, but on her side?"
From behind the door came the voice of Alexandra Ivanovna: they were calling the father.
"Wait, brother, wait! Wait and think it over, and I'll be . . ." he said in haste and almost fearfully rushed off to Alexandra's call.
He found his wife and daughter in each other's arms and flooding each other with their tears. These were tears of happiness, tenderness, and reconciliation. Aglaya kissed her mother's hands, cheeks, lips; the two clung warmly to each other.
"Well, there, look at her, Ivan Fyodorych, she's quite herself now!" said Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
Aglaya turned her happy and tear-bathed little face from her mother's bosom, looked at her father, laughed loudly, jumped over to him, embraced him tightly, and kissed him several times. Then she rushed to her mother again and buried her face completely in her bosom, so that no one could see her, and at once began weeping again. Lizaveta Prokofyevna covered her with the end of her shawl.
"Well, what is it, what is it you're doing to us, cruel girl that you are after that!" she said, but joyfully now, as if she suddenly could breathe more freely.
"Cruel! yes, cruel!" Aglaya suddenly picked up. "Rotten! Spoiled! Tell papa that. Ah, but he's here. Papa, are you here? Listen!" she laughed through her tears.
"My dearest, my idol!" the general, all beaming with happiness, kissed her hand. (Aglaya did not withdraw it.) "So it means that you love this . . . young man? ..."
"No, no, no! I can't bear . . . your young man, I can't bear him!" Aglaya suddenly boiled over and raised her head. "And if you dare once more, papa . . . I'm saying it to you seriously; do you hear: I'm saying it seriously!"
And she indeed said it seriously: she even turned all red and her eyes shone. Her father broke off and became frightened, but Lizaveta Prokofyevna made a sign to him behind Aglaya's back, and he understood that it meant: "Don't ask questions."
"If that is how you want it, my angel, it's as you will, he's waiting
there alone; shouldn't we delicately hint to him that he should leave?"
The general in turn winked at Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
"No, no, that's quite superfluous, especially if it's 'delicate.' Go out to him; I'll come out afterwards, right away. I want to ask forgiveness of this . . . young man, because I've hurt him."