Hippolyte, I
think his pistol was bound not to go off; it was more consistent with
the whole affair. Are you sure he really wished to blow his brains out,
and that there was no humbug about the matter?"

"No humbug at all."

"Very likely. So he wrote that you were to bring me a copy of his
confession, did he? Why didn't you bring it?"

"Why, he didn't die! I'll ask him for it, if you like."

"Bring it by all means; you needn't ask him. He will be delighted, you
may be sure; for, in all probability, he shot at himself simply in order
that I might read his confession. Don't laugh at what I say, please, Lef
Nicolaievitch, because it may very well be the case."

"I'm not laughing. I am convinced, myself, that that may have been
partly the reason.

"You are convinced? You don't really mean to say you think that
honestly?" asked Aglaya, extremely surprised.

She put her questions very quickly and talked fast, every now and then
forgetting what she had begun to say, and not finishing her sentence.
She seemed to be impatient to warn the prince about something or other.
She was in a state of unusual excitement, and though she put on a brave
and even defiant air, she seemed to be rather alarmed. She was dressed
very simply, but this suited her well. She continually trembled and
blushed, and she sat on the very edge of the seat.

The fact that the prince confirmed her idea, about Hippolyte shooting
himself that she might read his confession, surprised her greatly.

"Of course," added the prince, "he wished us all to applaud his
conduct--besides yourself."

"How do you mean--applaud?"

"Well--how am I to explain? He was very anxious that we should all come
around him, and say we were so sorry for him, and that we loved him
very much, and all that; and that we hoped he wouldn't kill himself, but
remain alive. Very likely he thought more of you than the rest of us,
because he mentioned you at such a moment, though perhaps he did not
know himself that he had you in his mind's eye."

"I don't understand you. How could he have me in view, and not be aware
of it himself? And yet, I don't know--perhaps I do. Do you know I
have intended to poison myself at least thirty times--ever since I was
thirteen or so--and to write to my parents before I did it? I used
to think how nice it would be to lie in my coffin, and have them all
weeping over me and saying it was all their fault for being so cruel,
and all that--what are you smi