did not. All he could see was the poor despairing
face which, as he had said to Aglaya, "had pierced his heart for ever."

He could bear it no longer, and with a look of entreaty, mingled with
reproach, he addressed Aglaya, pointing to Nastasia the while:

"How can you?" he murmured; "she is so unhappy."

But he had no time to say another word before. Aglaya's terrible look
bereft him of speech. In that look was embodied so dreadful a suffering
and so deadly a hatred, that he gave a cry and flew to her; but it was
too late.

She could not hold out long enough even to witness his movement in her
direction. She had hidden her face in her hands, cried once "Oh, my
God!" and rushed out of the room. Rogojin followed her to undo the bolts
of the door and let her out into the street.

The prince made a rush after her, but he, was caught and held back. The
distorted, livid face of Nastasia gazed at him reproachfully, and her
blue lips whispered:

"What? Would you go to her--to her?"

She fell senseless into his arms.

He raised her, carried her into the room, placed her in an arm-chair,
and stood over her, stupefied. On the table stood a tumbler of water.
Rogojin, who now returned, took this and sprinkled a little in her face.
She opened her eyes, but for a moment she understood nothing.

Suddenly she looked around, shuddered, gave a loud cry, and threw
herself in the prince's arms.

"Mine, mine!" she cried. "Has the proud young lady gone? Ha, ha, ha!"
she laughed hysterically. "And I had given him up to her! Why--why did
I? Mad--mad! Get away, Rogojin! Ha, ha, ha!"

Rogojin stared intently at them; then he took his hat, and without a
word, left the room.

A few moments later, the prince was seated by Nastasia on the sofa,
gazing into her eyes and stroking her face and hair, as he would a
little child's. He laughed when she laughed, and was ready to cry when
she cried. He did not speak, but listened to her excited, disconnected
chatter, hardly understanding a word of it the while. No sooner did
he detect the slightest appearance of complaining, or weeping, or
reproaching, than he would smile at her kindly, and begin stroking her
hair and her cheeks, soothing and consoling her once more, as if she
were a child.

IX.

A FORTNIGHT had passed since the events recorded in the last chapter,
and the position of the actors in our story had become so changed that
it is almost impossible for us to continue the tale with