"Oh, on the contrary! And my mother will be very glad ..." Ganya confirmed politely and obligingly.

"I believe only one of your rooms is taken. That—what's his name—Ferd . . . Fer . . ."

"Ferdyshchenko."

"Ah, yes. I don't like this Ferdyshchenko of yours: some sort of salacious buffoon. I don't understand why Nastasya Filippovna encourages him so. Is he really related to her?"

"Oh, no, it's all a joke! There's not a whiff of a relation."

"Well, devil take him! So, how about it, Prince, are you pleased or not?"

"Thank you, General, you have acted as an extremely kind man towards me, especially as I didn't even ask—I don't say it out of pride; I didn't know where to lay my head. Though, it's true, Rogozhin invited me earlier."

"Rogozhin? Ah, no. I'd advise you in a fatherly, or, if you prefer, a friendly way to forget about Mr. Rogozhin. And in general I'd advise you to keep to the family you're going to be with."

"Since you're so kind," the prince tried to begin, "I have one bit of business here. I've received notification . . ."

"Well, forgive me," the general interrupted, "but right now I don't have a minute more. I'll tell Lizaveta Prokofyevna about you at once: if she wishes to receive you now (and I'll try to recommend you with a view to that), I advise you to make use of the opportunity and please her, because Lizaveta Prokofyevna may be of great use to you; you're her namesake. If she doesn't wish to, don't take it badly, she will some other time. And you, Ganya, look over these accounts meanwhile; Fedoseev and I already tried earlier. We mustn't forget to include them ..."

The general went out, and so the prince had no time to ask about his business, which he had tried to bring up for perhaps the fourth time. Ganya lit a cigarette and offered one to the prince; the prince accepted, but did not start a conversation, not wishing to interfere, but began looking around the office; but Ganya barely glanced at the sheet of paper all covered with figures that the general had indicated to him. He was distracted: in the prince's view, Ganya's smile, gaze, and pensiveness became more strained when they were left alone. Suddenly he went up to the prince; at that moment he was again standing over the portrait of Nastasya Filippovna and studying it.

"So you like such a woman, Prince?" he asked him suddenly, giving him a piercing look. And it was as if he had some exceptional intention.

"An astonishing face!" replied the prince. "And I'm convinced that her fate is no ordinary one. It's a gay face, but she has suffered terribly, eh? It speaks in her eyes, these two little bones, the two points under her eyes where the cheeks begin. It's a proud face, terribly proud, and I don't know whether she's kind or not. Ah, if only she were kind! Everything would be saved!"

"And would you marry such a woman?" Ganya continued, not taking his inflamed eyes off him.

"I can't marry anybody, I'm unwell," said the prince.

"And would Rogozhin marry her? What do you think?"

"Why, I think he might marry her tomorrow. He'd marry her, and a week later he might well put a knife in her."

He had no sooner uttered these words than Ganya suddenly gave such a start that the prince almost cried out.

"What's wrong?" he said, seizing his arm.

"Your Highness! His excellency asks that you kindly come to her excellency's rooms," the lackey announced, appearing in the doorway. The prince followed the lackey out.

IV

All three Epanchin girls were healthy young ladies, tall, blossoming, with astonishing shoulders, powerful bosoms, strong, almost masculine arms, and, of course, owing to their strength and health, they liked to eat well on occasion, something they had no wish to conceal. Their mama, Lizaveta Prokofyevna, sometimes looked askance at the frankness of their appetite, but since some of her opinions, despite all the external deference with which her daughters received them, had in fact long lost their original and unquestionable authority among them, so much so that the harmonious conclave established by the three girls was beginning to gain the upper hand on most occasions, the general's wife, mindful of her own dignity, found it more convenient not to argue but to yield. True, her character quite often did not heed and obey the decisions of her good sense; with every year Lizaveta Prokofyevna was becoming more and more capricious and impatient, she was even becoming somehow eccentric, but since in any case a submissive and well-trained husband remained at hand, all superfluous and accumulated things usually poured down on his head, and then the family harmony was restored again and everything went better than ever.

The general's wife herself, however, never lost her own good appetite, and at half-past twelve usually partook, together with her daughters, of a copious lunch, which more resembled a dinner. Earlier, at exactly ten o'clock, while still in bed, at the moment of waking up, the young ladies had a cup of coffee. That was how

they liked it and how it had always been arranged. At half-past twelve the table was laid in the small dining room, near the mother's rooms, and occasionally the general himself, time permitting, joined them at this intimate family lunch. Besides tea, coffee, cheese, honey, butter, the special pancakes the lady herself was particularly fond of, the cutlets, and so on, they were even served a strong, hot bouillon. On the morning when our story begins, the whole family was gathered in the dining room in expectation of the general, who had promised to come by half-past twelve. If he had been even a minute late, he would have been sent for at once; but he arrived punctually. Going over to greet his spouse and kiss her hand, he noticed this time something all too peculiar in her face. And though he had anticipated even the day before that it would be precisely so, on account of a certain "anecdote" (as he was accustomed to put it), and had worried about it while falling asleep the previous night, all the same he now turned coward again. His daughters came up to kiss him; here there was no anger against him, but here, too, all the same there was also something peculiar, as it were. True, the general, owing to certain circumstances, had become overly suspicious; but as he was an experienced and adroit father and husband, he at once took his measures.

Perhaps we will do no great harm to the vividness of our narrative if we stop here and resort to the aid of a few clarifications in order to establish directly and more precisely the relations and circumstances in which we find General Epanchin's family at the beginning of our story. We said just now that the general, though not a very educated but, on the contrary, as he himself put it, a "self-taught man," was nevertheless an experienced husband and adroit father. Among other things, he had adopted a system of not rushing his daughters into marriage, that is, of not "hovering over" them and bothering them too much with his parental love's longing for their happiness, as involuntarily and naturally happens all the time, even in the most intelligent families, where grown-up daughters accumulate. He even succeeded in winning Lizaveta Prokofyevna over to his system, though that was normally a difficult thing to do—difficult because it was also unnatural; but the general's arguments were extremely weighty and based on tangible facts. Besides, left entirely to their own wishes and decisions, the brides would naturally be forced to see reason at last, and then things would take off, because they would do it eagerly, casting aside their caprices and excessive choosiness; all the parents would have to do