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to by the generally accepted title of ‘poor knight.’ But what
specially annoyed her was that the prince was looking so
uncomfortable, and blushing like a ten-year-old child.
‘Well, have you finished your silly joke?’ she added, and
am I to be told what this ‘poor knight’ means, or is it a sol-
emn secret which cannot be approached lightly?’
But they all laughed on.
‘It’s simply that there is a Russian poem,’ began Prince
S., evidently anxious to change the conversation, ‘a strange
thing, without beginning or end, and all about a ‘poor
knight.’ A month or so ago, we were all talking and laughing,
and looking up a subject for one of Adelaida’s pictures—you
know it is the principal business of this family to find sub-
jects for Adelaida’s pictures. Well, we happened upon this
‘poor knight.’ I don’t remember who thought of it first—‘
‘Oh! Aglaya Ivanovna did,’ said Colia.
‘Very likely—I don’t recollect,’ continued Prince S.
‘Some of us laughed at the subject; some liked it; but she
declared that, in order to make a picture of the gentleman,
she must first see his face. We then began to think over all
our friends’ faces to see if any of them would do, and none
suited us, and so the matter stood; that’s all. I don’t know
why Nicolai Ardalionovitch has brought up the joke now.
What was appropriate and funny then, has quite lost all in-
terest by this time.’
‘Probably there’s some new silliness about it,’ said Mrs.
Epanchin, sarcastically.
‘There is no silliness about it at all—only the profoundest
respect,’ said Aglaya, very seriously. She had quite recov-