Page 331 - the-idiot

felt his epileptic condition becoming more and more devel-
oped. The evening was very close; thunder was heard some
way off.
The prince was haunted all that day by the face of Leb-
edeff’s nephew whom he had seen for the first time that
morning, just as one is haunted at times by some persistent
musical refrain. By a curious association of ideas, the young
man always appeared as the murderer of whom Lebedeff
had spoken when introducing him to Muishkin. Yes, he had
read something about the murder, and that quite recently.
Since he came to Russia, he had heard many stories of this
kind, and was interested in them. His conversation with the
waiter, an hour ago, chanced to be on the subject of this
murder of the Zemarins, and the latter had agreed with him
about it. He thought of the waiter again, and decided that
he was no fool, but a steady, intelligent man: though, said he
to himself, ‘God knows what he may really be; in a country
with which one is unfamiliar it is difficult to understand the
people one meets.’ He was beginning to have a passionate
faith in the Russian soul, however, and what discoveries he
had made in the last six months, what unexpected discov-
eries! But every soul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie
in the soul of a Russian. He had been intimate with Rogojin,
for example, and a brotherly friendship had sprung up be-
tween them—yet did he really know him? What chaos and
ugliness fills the world at times! What a self-satisfied rascal
is that nephew of Lebedeff’s! ‘But what am I thinking,’ con-
tinued the prince to himself. ‘Can he really have committed
that crime? Did he kill those six persons? I seem to be con-

0 The Idiot