ntirely to blame."

The prince remained silent.

"Were you to blame, or not?"

"No, certainly not, no more than yourself, though at first I thought I
was."

"Oh, very well, let's sit down, at all events, for I don't intend to
stand up all day. And remember, if you say, one word about 'mischievous
urchins,' I shall go away and break with you altogether. Now then, did
you, or did you not, send a letter to Aglaya, a couple of months or so
ago, about Easter-tide?"

"Yes!"

"What for? What was your object? Show me the letter." Mrs. Epanchin's
eyes flashed; she was almost trembling with impatience.

"I have not got the letter," said the prince, timidly, extremely
surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. "If anyone has it, if
it still exists, Aglaya Ivanovna must have it."

"No finessing, please. What did you write about?"

"I am not finessing, and I am not in the least afraid of telling you;
but I don't see the slightest reason why I should not have written."

"Be quiet, you can talk afterwards! What was the letter about? Why are
you blushing?"

The prince was silent. At last he spoke.

"I don't understand your thoughts, Lizabetha Prokofievna; but I can see
that the fact of my having written is for some reason repugnant to you.
You must admit that I have a perfect right to refuse to answer your
questions; but, in order to show you that I am neither ashamed of
the letter, nor sorry that I wrote it, and that I am not in the least
inclined to blush about it" (here the prince's blushes redoubled), "I
will repeat the substance of my letter, for I think I know it almost by
heart."

So saying, the prince repeated the letter almost word for word, as he
had written it.

"My goodness, what utter twaddle, and what may all this nonsense have
signified, pray? If it had any meaning at all!" said Mrs. Epanchin,
cuttingly, after having listened with great attention.

"I really don't absolutely know myself; I know my feeling was very
sincere. I had moments at that time full of life and hope."

"What sort of hope?"

"It is difficult to explain, but certainly not the hopes you have in
your mind. Hopes--well, in a word, hopes for the future, and a feeling
of joy that THERE, at all events, I was not entirely a stranger and a
foreigner. I felt an ecstasy in being in my native land once more; and
one sunny morning I took up a pen and wrote her that letter, but why to
HER, I don't quite know. Sometimes one longs to ha