Page 140 - the-idiot

prince’s hand, drew him to a seat next to himself.
‘I carried you in my arms as a baby,’ he observed.
‘Really?’ asked the prince. ‘Why, it’s twenty years since
my father died.’
‘Yes, yes—twenty years and three months. We were edu-
cated together; I went straight into the army, and he—‘
‘My father went into the army, too. He was a sub-lieuten-
ant in the Vasiliefsky regiment.’
‘No, sir—in the Bielomirsky; he changed into the latter
shortly before his death. I was at his bedside when he died,
and gave him my blessing for eternity. Your mother—‘ The
general paused, as though overcome with emotion.
‘She died a few months later, from a cold,’ said the
prince.
‘Oh, not cold—believe an old man—not from a cold, but
from grief for her prince. Oh—your mother, your mother!
heigh-ho! Youth—youth! Your father and I—old friends as
we were—nearly murdered each other for her sake.’
The prince began to be a little incredulous.
‘I was passionately in love with her when she was en-
gaged— engaged to my friend. The prince noticed the fact
and was furious. He came and woke me at seven o’clock one
morning. I rise and dress in amazement; silence on both
sides. I understand it all. He takes a couple of pistols out
of his pocket—across a handkerchief—without witnesses.
Why invite witnesses when both of us would be walking in
eternity in a couple of minutes? The pistols are loaded; we
stretch the handkerchief and stand opposite one another.
We aim the pistols at each other’s hearts. Suddenly tears

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