ver, she turned and ran down to the prince as fast as her feet could
carry her.

"Well, what does it all mean? What do you make of it?" asked the general
of his spouse, hurriedly.

"I hardly dare say," said Lizabetha, as hurriedly, "but I think it's as
plain as anything can be."

"I think so too, as clear as day; she loves him."

"Loves him? She is head over ears in love, that's what she is," put in
Alexandra.

"Well, God bless her, God bless her, if such is her destiny," said
Lizabetha, crossing herself devoutly.

"H'm destiny it is," said the general, "and there's no getting out of
destiny."

With these words they all moved off towards the drawing-room, where
another surprise awaited them. Aglaya had not only not laughed, as she
had feared, but had gone to the prince rather timidly, and said to him:

"Forgive a silly, horrid, spoilt girl"--(she took his hand here)--"and
be quite assured that we all of us esteem you beyond all words. And if I
dared to turn your beautiful, admirable simplicity to ridicule, forgive
me as you would a little child its mischief. Forgive me all my absurdity
of just now, which, of course, meant nothing, and could not have the
slightest consequence." She spoke these words with great emphasis.

Her father, mother, and sisters came into the room and were much struck
with the last words, which they just caught as they entered--"absurdity
which of course meant nothing"--and still more so with the emphasis with
which Aglaya had spoken.

They exchanged glances questioningly, but the prince did not seem to
have understood the meaning of Aglaya's words; he was in the highest
heaven of delight.

"Why do you speak so?" he murmured. "Why do you ask my forgiveness?"

He wished to add that he was unworthy of being asked for forgiveness
by her, but paused. Perhaps he did understand Aglaya's sentence about
"absurdity which meant nothing," and like the strange fellow that he
was, rejoiced in the words.

Undoubtedly the fact that he might now come and see Aglaya as much as
he pleased again was quite enough to make him perfectly happy; that he
might come and speak to her, and see her, and sit by her, and walk with
her--who knows, but that all this was quite enough to satisfy him for
the whole of his life, and that he would desire no more to the end of
time?

(Lizabetha Prokofievna felt that this might be the case, and she didn't
like it; though very probably she could not have put the idea int