Perhaps that look was too grim, perhaps there was an expression of aversion in it, even a malignant enjoyment of her fright—if it were not a fancy left by her dreams; but suddenly, after almost a moment of expectation, the poor woman's face wore a look of absolute terror; it twitched convulsively; she lifted her trembling hands and suddenly burst into tears, exactly like a frightened child; in another moment she would have screamed.
But Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch pulled himself together; his face changed in one instant, and he went up to the table with the most cordial and amiable smile.
"I'm sorry, Marya Timofyevna, I frightened you coming in suddenly when you were asleep," he said, holding out his hand to her.
The sound of his caressing words produced their effect. Her fear vanished, although she still looked at him with dismay, evidently trying to understand something.
She held out her hands timorously also.
At last a shy smile rose to her lips.
"How do you do, prince?" she whispered, looking at him strangely.
"You must have had a bad dream," he went on, with a still more friendly and cordial smile.
"But how do you know that I was dreaming about that?"
And again she began trembling, and started back, putting up her hand as though to protect herself, on the point of crying again.
"Calm yourself. That's enough. What are you afraid of? Surely you know me?" said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, trying to soothe her; but it was long before he could succeed. She gazed at him dumbly with the same look of agonising perplexity, with a painful idea in her poor brain, and she still seemed to be trying to reach some conclusion.
At one moment she dropped her eyes, then suddenly scrutinised him in a rapid comprehensive glance.
At last, though not reassured, she seemed to come to a conclusion.
"Sit down beside me, please, that I may look at you thoroughly later on," she brought out with more firmness, evidently with a new object.
"But don't be uneasy, I won't look at you now. I'll look down.
Don't you look at me either till I ask you to.
Sit down," she added, with positive impatience.
A new sensation was obviously growing stronger and stronger in her.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down and waited. Rather a long silence followed.
"H'm! It all seems so strange to me," she suddenly muttered almost disdainfully. "Of course I was depressed by bad dreams, but why have I dreamt of you looking like that?"
"Come, let's have done with dreams," he said impatiently, turning to her in spite of her prohibition, and perhaps the same expression gleamed for a moment in his eyes again.
He saw that she several times wanted, very much in fact, to look at him again, but that she obstinately controlled herself and kept her eyes cast down.
"Listen, prince," she raised her voice suddenly, "listen prince...."
"Why do you turn away? Why don't you look at me? What's the object of this farce?" he cried, losing patience.
But she seemed not to hear him.
"Listen, prince," she repeated for the third time in a resolute voice, with a disagreeable, fussy expression.
"When you told me in the carriage that our marriage was going to be made public, I was alarmed at there being an end to the mystery.
Now I don't know. I've been thinking it all over, and I see clearly that I'm not fit for it at all.
I know how to dress, and I could receive guests, perhaps. There's nothing much in asking people to have a cup of tea, especially when there are footmen.
But what will people say though?
I saw a great deal that Sunday morning in that house.
That pretty young lady looked at me all the time, especially after you came in.
It was you came in, wasn't it?
Her mother's simply an absurd worldly old woman.
My Lebyadkin distinguished himself too. I kept looking at the ceiling to keep from laughing; the ceiling there is finely painted.
His mother ought to be an abbess. I'm afraid of her, though she did give me a black shawl.
Of course, they must all have come to strange conclusions about me. I wasn't vexed, but I sat there, thinking what relation am I to them?
Of course, from a countess one doesn't expect any but spiritual qualities; for the domestic ones she's got plenty of footmen; and also a little worldly coquetry, so as to be able to entertain foreign travellers.
But yet that Sunday they did look upon me as hopeless.
Only Dasha's an angel.
I'm awfully afraid they may wound him by some careless allusion to me."
"Don't be afraid, and don't be uneasy," said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, making a wry face.
"However, that doesn't matter to me, if he is a little ashamed of me, for there will always be more pity than shame, though it differs with people, of course.
He knows, to be sure, that I ought rather to pity them than they me."
"You seem to be very much offended with them, Marya Timofyevna?"
"I? Oh, no," she smiled with simple-hearted mirth.
"Not at all.
I looked at you all, then. You were all angry, you were all quarrelling. They meet together, and they don't know how to laugh from their hearts.
So much wealth and so little gaiety. It all disgusts me.
Though I feel for no one now except myself."