Page 479 - the-idiot

youths. You must be pleased to remember they heard it all.
I cannot forgive that wretched prince. I never shall forgive
him! And why, if you please, has Aglaya had an attack of
nerves for these last three days? Why has she all but quar-
relled with her sisters, even with Alexandra— whom she
respects so much that she always kisses her hands as though
she were her mother? What are all these riddles of hers that
we have to guess? What has Gavrila Ardalionovitch to do
with it? Why did she take upon herself to champion him
this morning, and burst into tears over it? Why is there an
allusion to that cursed ‘poor knight’ in the anonymous let-
ter? And why did I rush off to him just now like a lunatic,
and drag him back here? I do believe I’ve gone mad at last.
What on earth have I done now? To talk to a young man
about my daughter’s secrets—and secrets having to do with
himself, too! Thank goodness, he’s an idiot, and a friend of
the house! Surely Aglaya hasn’t fallen in love with such a
gaby! What an idea! Pfu! we ought all to be put under glass
cases—myself first of all—and be shown off as curiosities, at
ten copecks a peep!’
‘I shall never forgive you for all this, Ivan Fedorovitch—
never! Look at her now. Why doesn’t she make fun of him?
She said she would, and she doesn’t. Look there! She stares
at him with all her eyes, and doesn’t move; and yet she told
him not to come. He looks pale enough; and that abomina-
ble chatterbox, Evgenie Pavlovitch, monopolizes the whole
of the conversation. Nobody else can get a word in. I could
soon find out all about everything if I could only change
the subject.’

The Idiot