urmured Alexandra, half to
herself.

"Now tell us about your love affairs," said Adelaida, after a moment's
pause.

The prince gazed at her in amazement.

"You know," Adelaida continued, "you owe us a description of the Basle
picture; but first I wish to hear how you fell in love. Don't deny the
fact, for you did, of course. Besides, you stop philosophizing when you
are telling about anything."

"Why are you ashamed of your stories the moment after you have told
them?" asked Aglaya, suddenly.

"How silly you are!" said Mrs. Epanchin, looking indignantly towards the
last speaker.

"Yes, that wasn't a clever remark," said Alexandra.

"Don't listen to her, prince," said Mrs. Epanchin; "she says that sort
of thing out of mischief. Don't think anything of their nonsense, it
means nothing. They love to chaff, but they like you. I can see it in
their faces--I know their faces."

"I know their faces, too," said the prince, with a peculiar stress on
the words.

"How so?" asked Adelaida, with curiosity.

"What do YOU know about our faces?" exclaimed the other two, in chorus.

But the prince was silent and serious. All awaited his reply.

"I'll tell you afterwards," he said quietly.

"Ah, you want to arouse our curiosity!" said Aglaya. "And how terribly
solemn you are about it!"

"Very well," interrupted Adelaida, "then if you can read faces so well,
you must have been in love. Come now; I've guessed--let's have the
secret!"

"I have not been in love," said the prince, as quietly and seriously as
before. "I have been happy in another way."

"How, how?"

"Well, I'll tell you," said the prince, apparently in a deep reverie.

VI.

"Here you all are," began the prince, "settling yourselves down to
listen to me with so much curiosity, that if I do not satisfy you you
will probably be angry with me. No, no! I'm only joking!" he added,
hastily, with a smile.

"Well, then--they were all children there, and I was always among
children and only with children. They were the children of the village
in which I lived, and they went to the school there--all of them. I did
not teach them, oh no; there was a master for that, one Jules Thibaut.
I may have taught them some things, but I was among them just as an
outsider, and I passed all four years of my life there among them.
I wished for nothing better; I used to tell them everything and hid
nothing from them. Their fathers and relations were very angry with me,
becau