Page 759 - the-idiot

‘Yes, very much.’
‘Well—it’s all most strange to me. That is—my dear fel-
low, it is such a surprise—such a blow—that... You see, it is
not your financial position (though I should not object if
you were a bit richer)—I am thinking of my daughter’s hap-
piness, of course, and the thing is—are you able to give her
the happiness she deserves? And then—is all this a joke on
her part, or is she in earnest? I don’t mean on your side, but
on hers.’
At this moment Alexandra’s voice was heard outside the
door, calling out ‘Papa!’
‘Wait for me here, my boy—will you? Just wait and think
it all over, and I’ll come back directly,’ he said hurriedly,
and made off with what looked like the rapidity of alarm in
response to Alexandra’s call.
He found the mother and daughter locked in one anoth-
er’s arms, mingling their tears.
These were the tears of joy and peace and reconciliation.
Aglaya was kissing her mother’s lips and cheeks and hands;
they were hugging each other in the most ardent way.
‘There, look at her now—Ivan Fedorovitch! Here she is—
all of her! This is our REAL Aglaya at last!’ said Lizabetha
Prokofievna.
Aglaya raised her happy, tearful face from her mother’s
breast, glanced at her father, and burst out laughing. She
sprang at him and hugged him too, and kissed him over
and over again. She then rushed back to her mother and hid
her face in the maternal bosom, and there indulged in more
tears. Her mother covered her with a corner of her shawl.

The Idiot