re like them. "They are growing into Nihilists!" she repeated over and
over again. For years she had tormented herself with this idea, and with
the question: "Why don't they get married?"

"It is to annoy their mother; that is their one aim in life; it can be
nothing else. The fact is it is all of a piece with these modern ideas,
that wretched woman's question! Six months ago Aglaya took a fancy to
cut off her magnificent hair. Why, even I, when I was young, had nothing
like it! The scissors were in her hand, and I had to go down on my knees
and implore her... She did it, I know, from sheer mischief, to spite
her mother, for she is a naughty, capricious girl, a real spoiled child
spiteful and mischievous to a degree! And then Alexandra wanted to shave
her head, not from caprice or mischief, but, like a little fool, simply
because Aglaya persuaded her she would sleep better without her hair,
and not suffer from headache! And how many suitors have they not had
during the last five years! Excellent offers, too! What more do they
want? Why don't they get married? For no other reason than to vex their
mother--none--none!"

But Lizabetha Prokofievna felt somewhat consoled when she could say that
one of her girls, Adelaida, was settled at last. "It will be one off our
hands!" she declared aloud, though in private she expressed herself with
greater tenderness. The engagement was both happy and suitable, and was
therefore approved in society. Prince S. was a distinguished man, he
had money, and his future wife was devoted to him; what more could
be desired? Lizabetha Prokofievna had felt less anxious about this
daughter, however, although she considered her artistic tastes
suspicious. But to make up for them she was, as her mother expressed it,
"merry," and had plenty of "common-sense." It was Aglaya's future which
disturbed her most. With regard to her eldest daughter, Alexandra, the
mother never quite knew whether there was cause for anxiety or not.
Sometimes she felt as if there was nothing to be expected from her. She
was twenty-five now, and must be fated to be an old maid, and "with such
beauty, too!" The mother spent whole nights in weeping and lamenting,
while all the time the cause of her grief slumbered peacefully. "What is
the matter with her? Is she a Nihilist, or simply a fool?"

But Lizabetha Prokofievna knew perfectly well how unnecessary was the
last question. She set a high value on Alexandra Ivanovna's judgmen