r than his thirst for money. All right--he'll come to directly--he
must have the packet or he'll cut his throat afterwards. There! He's
coming to himself. General, Totski, all of you, did you hear me? The
money is all Gania's. I give it to him, fully conscious of my action, as
recompense for--well, for anything he thinks best. Tell him so. Let it
lie here beside him. Off we go, Rogojin! Goodbye, prince. I have seen
a man for the first time in my life. Goodbye, Afanasy Ivanovitch--and
thanks!"

The Rogojin gang followed their leader and Nastasia Philipovna to the
entrance-hall, laughing and shouting and whistling.

In the hall the servants were waiting, and handed her her fur cloak.
Martha, the cook, ran in from the kitchen. Nastasia kissed them all
round.

"Are you really throwing us all over, little mother? Where, where are
you going to? And on your birthday, too!" cried the four girls, crying
over her and kissing her hands.

"I am going out into the world, Katia; perhaps I shall be a laundress. I
don't know. No more of Afanasy Ivanovitch, anyhow. Give him my respects.
Don't think badly of me, girls."

The prince hurried down to the front gate where the party were settling
into the troikas, all the bells tinkling a merry accompaniment the
while. The general caught him up on the stairs:

"Prince, prince!" he cried, seizing hold of his arm, "recollect
yourself! Drop her, prince! You see what sort of a woman she is. I am
speaking to you like a father."

The prince glanced at him, but said nothing. He shook himself free, and
rushed on downstairs.

The general was just in time to see the prince take the first sledge he
could get, and, giving the order to Ekaterinhof, start off in pursuit
of the troikas. Then the general's fine grey horse dragged that worthy
home, with some new thoughts, and some new hopes and calculations
developing in his brain, and with the pearls in his pocket, for he had
not forgotten to bring them along with him, being a man of business.
Amid his new thoughts and ideas there came, once or twice, the image of
Nastasia Philipovna. The general sighed.

"I'm sorry, really sorry," he muttered. "She's a ruined woman. Mad! mad!
However, the prince is not for Nastasia Philipovna now,--perhaps it's as
well."

Two more of Nastasia's guests, who walked a short distance together,
indulged in high moral sentiments of a similar nature.

"Do you know, Totski, this is all very like what they say goes on