e things to him.

Suddenly he became aware that General Epanchin was tapping him on the
shoulder; Ivan Petrovitch was laughing too, but still more kind and
sympathizing was the old dignitary. He took the prince by the hand and
pressed it warmly; then he patted it, and quietly urged him to recollect
himself--speaking to him exactly as he would have spoken to a little
frightened child, which pleased the prince wonderfully; and next seated
him beside himself.

The prince gazed into his face with pleasure, but still seemed to have
no power to speak. His breath failed him. The old man's face pleased him
greatly.

"Do you really forgive me?" he said at last. "And--and Lizabetha
Prokofievna too?" The laugh increased, tears came into the prince's
eyes, he could not believe in all this kindness--he was enchanted.

"The vase certainly was a very beautiful one. I remember it here for
fifteen years--yes, quite that!" remarked Ivan Petrovitch.

"Oh, what a dreadful calamity! A wretched vase smashed, and a man half
dead with remorse about it," said Lizabetha Prokofievna, loudly. "What
made you so dreadfully startled, Lef Nicolaievitch?" she added, a little
timidly. "Come, my dear boy! cheer up. You really alarm me, taking the
accident so to heart."

"Do you forgive me all--ALL, besides the vase, I mean?" said the prince,
rising from his seat once more, but the old gentleman caught his hand
and drew him down again--he seemed unwilling to let him go.

"C'est tres-curieux et c'est tres-serieux," he whispered across the
table to Ivan Petrovitch, rather loudly. Probably the prince heard him.

"So that I have not offended any of you? You will not believe how happy
I am to be able to think so. It is as it should be. As if I COULD offend
anyone here! I should offend you again by even suggesting such a thing."

"Calm yourself, my dear fellow. You are exaggerating again; you really
have no occasion to be so grateful to us. It is a feeling which does you
great credit, but an exaggeration, for all that."

"I am not exactly thanking you, I am only feeling a growing admiration
for you--it makes me happy to look at you. I dare say I am speaking very
foolishly, but I must speak--I must explain, if it be out of nothing
better than self-respect."

All he said and did was abrupt, confused, feverish--very likely the
words he spoke, as often as not, were not those he wished to say. He
seemed to inquire whether he MIGHT speak. His eyes lighted