ruth were to be told about it, he added,
never had had.

Meanwhile nothing put the prince out, and he continued to be in the
seventh heaven of bliss. Of course he could not fail to observe some
impatience and ill-temper in Aglaya now and then; but he believed in
something else, and nothing could now shake his conviction. Besides,
Aglaya's frowns never lasted long; they disappeared of themselves.

Perhaps he was too easy in his mind. So thought Hippolyte, at all
events, who met him in the park one day.

"Didn't I tell you the truth now, when I said you were in love?" he
said, coming up to Muishkin of his own accord, and stopping him.

The prince gave him his hand and congratulated him upon "looking so
well."

Hippolyte himself seemed to be hopeful about his state of health, as is
often the case with consumptives.

He had approached the prince with the intention of talking sarcastically
about his happy expression of face, but very soon forgot his intention
and began to talk about himself. He began complaining about everything,
disconnectedly and endlessly, as was his wont.

"You wouldn't believe," he concluded, "how irritating they all are
there. They are such wretchedly small, vain, egotistical, COMMONPLACE
people! Would you believe it, they invited me there under the express
condition that I should die quickly, and they are all as wild as
possible with me for not having died yet, and for being, on the
contrary, a good deal better! Isn't it a comedy? I don't mind betting
that you don't believe me!"

The prince said nothing.

"I sometimes think of coming over to you again," said Hippolyte,
carelessly. "So you DON'T think them capable of inviting a man on the
condition that he is to look sharp and die?"

"I certainly thought they invited you with quite other views."

"Ho, ho! you are not nearly so simple as they try to make you out! This
is not the time for it, or I would tell you a thing or two about that
beauty, Gania, and his hopes. You are being undermined, pitilessly
undermined, and--and it is really melancholy to see you so calm about
it. But alas! it's your nature--you can't help it!"

"My word! what a thing to be melancholy about! Why, do you think I
should be any happier if I were to feel disturbed about the excavations
you tell me of?"

"It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a
fool's paradise! I suppose you don't believe that you have a rival in
that quarter?"

"You