assure you, when I came in here just now and saw your kind faces (I
can read faces well) my heart felt light for the first time since that
moment of parting. I think I must be one of those who are born to be in
luck, for one does not often meet with people whom one feels he can love
from the first sight of their faces; and yet, no sooner do I step out of
the railway carriage than I happen upon you!

"I know it is more or less a shamefaced thing to speak of one's feelings
before others; and yet here am I talking like this to you, and am not
a bit ashamed or shy. I am an unsociable sort of fellow and shall very
likely not come to see you again for some time; but don't think the
worse of me for that. It is not that I do not value your society; and
you must never suppose that I have taken offence at anything.

"You asked me about your faces, and what I could read in them; I will
tell you with the greatest pleasure. You, Adelaida Ivanovna, have a very
happy face; it is the most sympathetic of the three. Not to speak of
your natural beauty, one can look at your face and say to one's self,
'She has the face of a kind sister.' You are simple and merry, but you
can see into another's heart very quickly. That's what I read in your
face.

"You too, Alexandra Ivanovna, have a very lovely face; but I think you
may have some secret sorrow. Your heart is undoubtedly a kind, good one,
but you are not merry. There is a certain suspicion of 'shadow' in your
face, like in that of Holbein's Madonna in Dresden. So much for your
face. Have I guessed right?

"As for your face, Lizabetha Prokofievna, I not only think, but am
perfectly SURE, that you are an absolute child--in all, in all, mind,
both good and bad-and in spite of your years. Don't be angry with me
for saying so; you know what my feelings for children are. And do not
suppose that I am so candid out of pure simplicity of soul. Oh dear no,
it is by no means the case! Perhaps I have my own very profound object
in view."

VII.

When the prince ceased speaking all were gazing merrily at him--even
Aglaya; but Lizabetha Prokofievna looked the jolliest of all.

"Well!" she cried, "we HAVE 'put him through his paces,' with a
vengeance! My dears, you imagined, I believe, that you were about
to patronize this young gentleman, like some poor protege picked up
somewhere, and taken under your magnificent protection. What fools we
were, and what a specially big fool is your father! Well