Page 645 - the-idiot

‘If you say,’ she began in shaky tones, ‘if you say that this
woman of yours is mad—at all events I have nothing to do
with her insane fancies. Kindly take these three letters, Lef
Nicolaievitch, and throw them back to her, from me. And if
she dares,’ cried Aglaya suddenly, much louder than before,
‘if she dares so much as write me one word again, tell her I
shall tell my father, and that she shall be taken to a lunatic
asylum.’
The prince jumped up in alarm at Aglaya’s sudden wrath,
and a mist seemed to come before his eyes.
‘You cannot really feel like that! You don’t mean what
you say. It is not true,’ he murmured.
‘It IS true, it IS true,’ cried Aglaya, almost beside herself
with rage.
‘What’s true? What’s all this? What’s true?’ said an
alarmed voice just beside them.
Before them stood Lizabetha Prokofievna.
‘Why, it’s true that I am going to marry Gavrila Ar-
dalionovitch, that I love him and intend to elope with him
tomorrow,’ cried Aglaya, turning upon her mother. ‘Do you
hear? Is your curiosity satisfied? Are you pleased with what
you have heard?’
Aglaya rushed away homewards with these words.
‘H’m! well, YOU are not going away just yet, my friend,
at all events,’ said Lizabetha, stopping the prince. ‘Kindly
step home with me, and let me have a little explanation of
the mystery. Nice goings on, these! I haven’t slept a wink all
night as it is.’
The prince followed her.

The Idiot