fe (that was why he did not
like Prince Andrew) and he referred to it contemptuously as philosophy
and dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very sorrow which revealed
the depth of a whole spiritual world foreign to him was an irresistible
attraction.

"She must be a wonderful woman. A real angel!" he said to himself.
"Why am I not free? Why was I in such a hurry with Sonya?" And he
involuntarily compared the two: the lack of spirituality in the one and
the abundance of it in the other--a spirituality he himself lacked and
therefore valued most highly. He tried to picture what would happen were
he free. How he would propose to her and how she would become his wife.
But no, he could not imagine that. He felt awed, and no clear picture
presented itself to his mind. He had long ago pictured to himself a
future with Sonya, and that was all clear and simple just because it
had all been thought out and he knew all there was in Sonya, but it was
impossible to picture a future with Princess Mary, because he did not
understand her but simply loved her.

Reveries about Sonya had had something merry and playful in them, but to
dream of Princess Mary was always difficult and a little frightening.

"How she prayed!" he thought. "It was plain that her whole soul was in
her prayer. Yes, that was the prayer that moves mountains, and I am
sure her prayer will be answered. Why don't I pray for what I want?" he
suddenly thought. "What do I want? To be free, released from Sonya...
She was right," he thought, remembering what the governor's wife had
said: "Nothing but misfortune can come of marrying Sonya. Muddles,
grief for Mamma... business difficulties... muddles, terrible muddles!
Besides, I don't love her--not as I should. O, God! release me from
this dreadful, inextricable position!" he suddenly began to pray. "Yes,
prayer can move mountains, but one must have faith and not pray as
Natasha and I used to as children, that the snow might turn into
sugar--and then run out into the yard to see whether it had done so.
No, but I am not praying for trifles now," he thought as he put his pipe
down in a corner, and folding his hands placed himself before the icon.
Softened by memories of Princess Mary he began to pray as he had not
done for a long time. Tears were in his eyes and in his throat when the
door opened and Lavrushka came in with some papers.

"Blockhead! Why do you come in without being called?" cried Nicholas,
quickly changing