‘Enough,’ cried Lizabetha Prokofievna abruptly, trem-bling with anger, ‘we have had enough of this balderdash!’
In a state of terrible excitement she threw back her head, with flaming eyes, casting looks of contempt and defiance upon the whole company, in which she could no longer dis-tinguish friend from foe. She had restrained herself so long that she felt forced to vent her rage on somebody. Those who knew Lizabetha Prokofievna saw at once how it was with her. ‘She flies into these rages sometimes,’ said Ivan Fedo-
rovitch to Prince S. the next day, ‘but she is not often so violent as she was yesterday; it does not happen more than once in three years.’
‘Be quiet, Ivan Fedorovitch! Leave me alone!’ cried Mrs. Epanchin. ‘Why do you offer me your arm now? You had not sense enough to take me away before. You are my hus-band, you are a father, it was your duty to drag me away by force, if in my folly I refused to obey you and go quietly. You might at least have thought of your daughters. We can find our way out now without your help. Here is shame enough for a year! Wait a moment ‘till I thank the prince! Thank you, prince, for the entertainment you have given us! It was most amusing to hear these young men… It is vile, vile! A chaos, a scandal, worse than a nightmare! Is it possible that there can be many such people on earth? Be quiet, Aglaya! Be quiet, Alexandra! It is none of your business! Don’t fuss round me like that, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you exasperate me! So, my dear,’ she cried, addressing the prince, ‘you go so far as to beg their pardon! He says, ‘Forgive me for offering you a fortune.’ And you, you mountebank, what are you laugh-ing at?’ she cried, turning suddenly on Lebedeff’s nephew. ‘We refuse ten thousand roubles; we do not beseech, we de-mand!’ As if he did not know that this idiot will call on them tomorrow to renew his offers of money and friendship. You will, won’t you? You will? Come, will you, or won’t you?’
‘I shall,’ said the prince, with gentle humility.
‘You hear him! You count upon it, too,’ she continued, turning upon Doktorenko. ‘You are as sure of him now as if you had the money in your pocket. And there you are play-
ing the swaggerer to throw dust in our eyes! No, my dear sir, you may take other people in! I can see through all your airs and graces, I see your game!’
‘Lizabetha Prokofievna!’ exclaimed the prince.
‘Come, Lizabetha Prokofievna, it is quite time for us to be going, we will take the prince with us,’ said Prince S. with a smile, in the coolest possible way.
The girls stood apart, almost frightened; their father was positively horrified. Mrs. Epanchin’s language astonished everybody. Some who stood a little way off smiled furtively, and talked in whispers. Lebedeff wore an expression of ut-most ecstasy.
‘Chaos and scandal are to be found everywhere, ma-dame,’ remarked Doktorenko, who was considerably put out of countenance.
‘Not like this! Nothing like the spectacle you have just given us, sir,’ answered Lizabetha Prokofievna, with a sort of hysterical rage. ‘Leave me alone, will you?’ she cried vi-olently to those around her, who were trying to keep her quiet. ‘No, Evgenie Pavlovitch, if, as you said yourself just now, a lawyer said in open court that he found it quite nat-ural that a man should murder six people because he was in misery, the world must be coming to an end. I had not heard of it before. Now I understand everything. And this stutterer, won’t he turn out a murderer?’ she cried, pointing to Burdovsky, who was staring at her with stupefaction. ‘I bet he will! He will have none of your money, possibly, he will refuse it because his conscience will not allow him to accept it, but he will go murdering you by night and walk-
ing off with your cashbox, with a clear conscience! He does not call it a dishonest action but ‘the impulse of a noble de-spair’; ‘a negation’; or the devil knows what! Bah! everything is upside down, everyone walks head downwards. A young girl, brought up at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the middle of the street, saying: ‘Good-bye, mother, I married Karlitch, or Ivanitch, the other day!’ And you think it quite right? You call such conduct estimable and natural? The ‘woman question’? Look here,’ she continued, pointing to Colia, ‘the other day that whippersnapper told me that this was the whole meaning of the ‘woman question.’ But even supposing that your mother is a fool, you are none the less, bound to treat her with humanity. Why did you come here tonight so insolently? ‘Give us our rights, but don’t dare to speak in our presence. Show us every mark of deepest re-spect, while we treat you like the scum of the earth.’ The miscreants have written a tissue of calumny in their article, and these are the men who seek for truth, and do battle for the right! ‘We do not beseech, we demand, you will get no thanks from us, because you will be acting to satisfy your own conscience!’ What morality! But, good. heavens! if you declare that the prince’s generosity will, excite no grati-tude in you, he might answer that he is not, bound to be grateful to Pavlicheff, who also was only satisfying his own conscience. But you counted on the prince’s, gratitude to-wards Pavlicheff; you never lent him any money; he owes you nothing; then what were you counting upon if not on his gratitude? And if you appeal to that sentiment in oth-ers, why should you expect to be exempted from it? They
are mad! They say society is savage and. inhuman because it despises a young girl who has been seduced. But if you call society inhuman you imply that the young girl is made to suffer by its censure. How then, can you hold her up to the scorn of society in the newspapers without realizing that you are making her suffering, still greater? Madmen! Vain fools! They don’t believe in God, they don’t believe in Christ! But you are so eaten. up by pride and vanity, that you will end by devouring each other—that is my prophecy! Is not this absurd? Is it not monstrous chaos? And after all this, that shameless creature will go and beg their pardon! Are there many people like you? What are you smiling at? Because I am not ashamed to disgrace myself before you?— Yes, I am disgraced—it can’t be helped now! But don’t you jeer at me, you scum!’ (this was aimed at Hippolyte). ‘He is almost at his last gasp, yet he corrupts others. You, have got hold of this lad ‘—(she pointed to Colia); ‘you, have turned his head, you have taught him to be an atheist, you don’t believe in God, and you are not too old to be whipped, sir! A plague upon you! And so, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, you will call on them tomorrow, will you?’ she asked the prince breathlessly, for the second time.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will never speak to you again.’ She made a sud-den movement to go, and then turned quickly back. ‘And you will call on that atheist?’ she continued, pointing to Hippolyte. ‘How dare you grin at me like that?’ she shout-ed furiously, rushing at the invalid, whose mocking smile drove her to distraction.
Exclamations arose on all sides.
‘Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna! Liza-betha Prokofievna!’
‘Mother, this is disgraceful!’ cried Aglaya.
Mrs. Epanchin had approached Hippolyte and seized him firmly by the arm, while her eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his face.
‘Do not distress yourself, Aglaya Ivanovitch,’ he answered calmly; ‘your mother knows that one cannot strike a dying man. I am ready to explain why I was laughing. I shall be delighted if you will let me—‘
A violent fit of coughing, which lasted a full minute, pre-vented him from finishing his sentence.
‘He is dying, yet he will not stop holding forth!’ cried Lizabetha Prokofievna. She loosed her hold on his arm, al-most terrified, as she saw him wiping the blood from his lips. ‘Why do you talk? You ought to go home to bed.’
‘So I will,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘As soon as I get home I will go to bed at once; and I know I shall be dead in a fort-night; Botkine told me so himself last week. That is why I should like to say a few farewell words, if you will let me.’
‘But you must be mad! It is ridiculous! You should take care of yourself; what is the use of holding a conversation now? Go home to bed, do!’ cried Mrs. Epanchin in horror.
‘When I do go to bed I shall never get up again,’ said Hip-polyte, with a smile. ‘I meant to take to my bed yesterday and stay there till I died, but as my legs can still carry me, I put it off for two days, so as to come here with them to-day— but I am very tired.’
‘Oh, sit down, sit down, why are
