ther him or me?" cried Aglaya. "How about your letters?
Who asked you to try to persuade me to marry him? Was not that a
declaration from you? Why do you force yourself upon us in this way? I
confess I thought at first that you were anxious to arouse an aversion
for him in my heart by your meddling, in order that I might give him up;
and it was only afterwards that I guessed the truth. You imagined that
you were doing an heroic action! How could you spare any love for him,
when you love your own vanity to such an extent? Why could you not
simply go away from here, instead of writing me those absurd letters?
Why do you not NOW marry that generous man who loves you, and has done
you the honour of offering you his hand? It is plain enough why; if you
marry Rogojin you lose your grievance; you will have nothing more to
complain of. You will be receiving too much honour. Evgenie Pavlovitch
was saying the other day that you had read too many poems and are too
well educated for--your position; and that you live in idleness. Add to
this your vanity, and, there you have reason enough--"

"And do you not live in idleness?"

Things had come to this unexpected point too quickly. Unexpected because
Nastasia Philipovna, on her way to Pavlofsk, had thought and considered
a good deal, and had expected something different, though perhaps not
altogether good, from this interview; but Aglaya had been carried away
by her own outburst, just as a rolling stone gathers impetus as it
careers downhill, and could not restrain herself in the satisfaction of
revenge.

It was strange, Nastasia Philipovna felt, to see Aglaya like this. She
gazed at her, and could hardly believe her eyes and ears for a moment or
two.

Whether she were a woman who had read too many poems, as Evgenie
Pavlovitch supposed, or whether she were mad, as the prince had
assured Aglaya, at all events, this was a woman who, in spite of her
occasionally cynical and audacious manner, was far more refined and
trustful and sensitive than appeared. There was a certain amount of
romantic dreaminess and caprice in her, but with the fantastic was
mingled much that was strong and deep.

The prince realized this, and great suffering expressed itself in his
face.

Aglaya observed it, and trembled with anger.

"How dare you speak so to me?" she said, with a haughtiness which was
quite indescribable, replying to Nastasia's last remark.

"You must have misunderstood what I said," s