“How am I to understand you, mon père?” said the princess, turning pale, then red.
“How understand!” her father cried irately. “Prince Vassily finds you to his taste as his daughter-in-law and proposes to you on behalf of his pupil. That’s how! How understand?! And I am asking you.”
“I don’t know, mon père, how you…” the princess said in a whisper.
“I? I? What have I got to do with it? Leave me out of it. It’s not I who am getting married. What about you, miss? That’s what it’s desirable to know.”
The princess saw that her father looked unfavorably on this matter, but at the same moment it occurred to her that her fate in life would be decided now or never. She lowered her eyes so as not to see his gaze, under the influence of which she felt she could not think but only obey out of habit, and said:
“I desire only one thing—to do your will,” she said, “but if my desire must needs be expressed…”
She did not have time to finish. The prince interrupted her.
“Splendid!” he cried. “He’ll get you and your dowry and incidentally take along Mlle Bourienne. She’ll be his wife, and you…”
The prince stopped. He noticed the impression these words made on his daughter. She hung her head and was about to cry.
“Well, well, I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said. “Remember one thing, Princess: I hold to the rule that a girl has the full right to choose. And I give you freedom. Remember one thing: the happiness of your life depends on your decision. There’s no point in talking about me.”
“But I don’t know…mon père.”
“There’s no point in talking! They’ll tell him, and he’ll marry not only you but anyone else as well; but you’re free to choose…Go to your room, think it over, and in an hour come to me and say in his presence: yes or no. I know you’ll be praying. Well, pray then. Only you’d better think. Now go.”
“Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!” he went on shouting, once the princess, reeling as if in a fog, had left his study.
Her fate was decided and decided happily. But what her father had said about Mlle Bourienne—that was a terrible hint. Untrue, let us suppose, but all the same it was terrible, she could not help thinking about it. She was walking straight ahead through the winter garden without seeing or hearing anything, when suddenly the familiar whispering of Mlle Bourienne roused her. She looked up and saw Anatole two steps away from her, embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something to her. Anatole, with a frightful expression on his handsome face, turned to look at Princess Marya, and for the first second did not let go of the waist of Mlle Bourienne, who did not see her.
“Who’s there? Why? Wait!” Anatole’s face seemed to say. Princess Marya was looking at them silently. She could not understand it. Finally Mlle Bourienne gave a little cry and ran away. Anatole, with a merry smile, bowed to Princess Marya, as if inviting her to laugh at this odd incident, and, shrugging his shoulders, went to the door that led to his part of the house.
An hour later Tikhon came to summon Princess Marya. He summoned her to the prince and added that Prince Vassily Sergeich was also there. When Tikhon came, the princess was sitting on the sofa in her room, holding the weeping Mlle Bourienne in her arms. Princess Marya was gently stroking her head. Her beautiful eyes, with all their former calm and luminosity, looked at the pretty face of Mlle Bourienne with tender love and pity.
“Non, princesse, je suis perdue pour toujours dans votre coeur,”*252 said Mlle Bourienne.
“Pourquoi? Je vous aime plus que jamais,” said Princess Marya, “et je tâcherai de faire tout ce qui est en mon pouvoir pour votre bonheur.”†253
“Mais vous me méprisez, vous si pure, vous ne comprendrez jamais cet égarement de la passion. Ah, ce n’est que ma pauvre mère…”‡254
“Je comprends tout,”§255 Princess Marya answered with a sad smile. “Calm down, my friend. I’ll go to my father,” she said and went out.
Prince Vassily, one leg crossed high up on the other, a snuffbox in his hand, as if moved to the utmost, and as if regretting and laughing at his sentimentality himself, was sitting with a smile of tender emotion on his face. When Princess Marya came in, he quickly brought a pinch of snuff to his nose.
“Ah, ma bonne, ma bonne,” he said, rising and taking her by both hands. He sighed and added: “Le sort de mon fils est en vos mains. Décidez, ma bonne, ma chère, ma douce Marie, qui j’ai toujours aimé comme ma fille.”#256
He stepped aside. An actual tear came to his eye.
“Snort…snort…” snorted Prince Nikolai Andreich.
“The prince, on behalf of his pupil…son, is proposing to you. Do you or do you not want to be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin? Say yes or no!” he shouted, “and then I retain my right to give my opinion as well. Yes, my opinion and only my opinion,” added Prince Nikolai Andreich, turning to Prince Vassily and replying to his pleading expression. “Yes or no? Well?”
“My wish, mon père, is never to leave you, never to separate my life from yours. I do not want to marry,” she said resolutely, her beautiful eyes looking at Prince Vassily and her father.
“Rot! Foolishness! Rot, rot, rot!” shouted Prince Nikolai Andreich, frowning, and taking his daughter by the hand, he pulled her to him and did not kiss her, but, leaning his forehead to her forehead, touched it, and squeezed her hand, which he was holding, so hard that she winced and cried out.
Prince Vassily rose.
“Ma chère, je vous dirai, que c’est un moment que je n’oublierai jamais, jamais; mais, ma bonne, est-ce que vous ne nous donnerez pas un peu d’espérance de toucher ce coeur si bon, si généreux? Dites, que peut-être…L’avenir est si grand. Dites: peut-être.”*257
“Prince, what I said is all that is in my heart. I thank you for the honor, but I shall never be your son’s wife.”
“Well, that ends that, my dear. Very glad to see you, very glad to see you. Go to your room, Princess, go,” said the old prince. “Very, very glad to see you,” he repeated, putting his arm around Prince Vassily.
“My calling is different,” Princess Marya thought to herself, “my calling is to be happy with a different happiness, the happiness of love and self-sacrifice. And whatever the cost, I shall make for poor Amélie’s happiness. She loves him so passionately. She repents so passionately. I shall do everything to arrange her marriage to him. If he is not rich, I shall give her means. I shall ask father, and ask Andrei. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is so unhappy, a stranger, lonely, helpless! And, my God, how passionately she loves him, if she could so forget herself. I might have done the same!…” thought Princess Marya.
VI
For a long time the Rostovs had no news of Nikolushka; only in midwinter was the count handed a letter addressed in what he recognized as his son’s handwriting. On receiving the letter, the count fearfully and hastily, trying not to be noticed, ran on tiptoe to his study, shut himself in, and began to read. Anna Mikhailovna, learning (as she knew everything that went on in the house) of the letter that had come, went into the count’s study with soft steps, and found him with the letter in his hands, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
Anna Mikhailovna, though her affairs had improved, went on living with the Rostovs.
“Mon bon ami?” Anna Mikhailovna uttered with questioning sadness and a readiness for all sorts of sympathy.
The count sobbed still louder.