Page 118 - the-idiot

‘Yes, she is pretty,’ she said at last, ‘even very pretty. I have
seen her twice, but only at a distance. So you admire this
kind of beauty, do you?’ she asked the prince, suddenly.
‘Yes, I do—this kind.’
‘Do you mean especially this kind?’
‘Yes, especially this kind.’
‘Why?’
‘There is much suffering in this face,’ murmured the
prince, more as though talking to himself than answering
the question.
‘I think you are wandering a little, prince,’ Mrs. Ep-
anchin decided, after a lengthened survey of his face; and
she tossed the portrait on to the table, haughtily.
Alexandra took it, and Adelaida came up, and both the
girls examined the photograph. Just then Aglaya entered
the room.
‘What a power!’ cried Adelaida suddenly, as she earnestly
examined the portrait over her sister’s shoulder.
‘Whom? What power?’ asked her mother, crossly.
‘Such beauty is real power,’ said Adelaida. ‘With such
beauty as that one might overthrow the world.’ She re-
turned to her easel thoughtfully.
Aglaya merely glanced at the portrait—frowned, and put
out her underlip; then went and sat down on the sofa with
folded hands. Mrs. Epanchin rang the bell.
‘Ask Gavrila Ardalionovitch to step this way,’ said she to
the man who answered.
‘Mamma!’ cried Alexandra, significantly.
‘I shall just say two words to him, that’s all,’ said her

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