Page 642 - the-idiot

‘Has she never laughed at you?’
‘No—in anger, perhaps. Oh yes! she reproached me
dreadfully in anger; and suffered herself, too! But after-
wards—oh! don’t remind me—don’t remind me of that!’
He hid his face in his hands.
‘Are you aware that she writes to me almost every day?’
‘So that is true, is it?’ cried the prince, greatly agitated. ‘I
had heard a report of it, but would not believe it.’
‘Whom did you hear it from?’ asked Aglaya, alarmed.
‘Rogojin said something about it yesterday, but nothing def-
inite.’
‘Yesterday! Morning or evening? Before the music or af-
ter?’
‘After—it was about twelve o’clock.’
‘Ah! Well, if it was Rogojin—but do you know what she
writes to me about?’
‘I should not be surprised by anything. She is mad!’
‘There are the letters.’ (Aglaya took three letters out of
her pocket and threw them down before the prince.) ‘For a
whole week she has been entreating and worrying and per-
suading me to marry you. She—well, she is clever, though
she may be mad—much cleverer than I am, as you say. Well,
she writes that she is in love with me herself, and tries to
see me every day, if only from a distance. She writes that
you love me, and that she has long known it and seen it, and
that you and she talked about me— there. She wishes to see
you happy, and she says that she is certain only I can en-
sure you the happiness you deserve. She writes such strange,
wild letters—I haven’t shown them to anyone. Now, do you

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