Well, do you like it?” I felt the embarrassment of an author praised to his face, but I don’t know what I would have given to have kissed her at that moment.
But it seemed somehow impossible to kiss her.
Nellie was silent for a moment.
“Why, why did he die?” she asked with an expression of the deepest sadness, stealing a glance at me and then dropping her eyes again.
“Who?”
“Why, that young man in consumption ... in the book.”
“It couldn’t be helped. It had to be so, Nellie.”
“It didn’t have to at all,” she answered, hardly above a whisper, but suddenly, abruptly, almost angrily, pouting and staring still more obstinately at the floor.
Another minute passed.
“And she ... they ... the girl and the old man,” she whispered, still plucking at my sleeve, more hurriedly than before. Will they live together?
And will they leave off being poor?”
“No, Nellie, she’ll go far away; she’ll marry a country gentleman, and he’ll be left alone,” I answered with extreme regret, really sorry that I could not tell her something more comforting.
“Oh, dear! ...
How dreadful!
Ach, what people!
I don’t want to read it now!”
And she pushed away my arm angrily, turned her back on me quickly, walked away to the table and stood with her face to the corner, and her eyes on the ground...
She was flushed all over, and breathed unsteadily, as though from some terrible disappointment.
“Come, Nellie, you’re angry,” I said, going up to her. “You know, it’s not true what’s written in it, it’s all made up; what is there to be angry about!
You’re such a sensitive little girl!”
“I’m not angry,” she said timidly, looking up at me with clear and loving eyes; then she suddenly snatched my hand, pressed her face to my breast, and for some reason began crying,
But at the same moment she laughed – laughed and cried together.
I, too, felt it was funny, and somehow . . . sweet.
But nothing would make her lift her head, and when I began pulling her little face away from my shoulder she pressed it more and more closely against me, and laughed more and more.
At last this sentimental scene was over.
We parted. I was in a hurry.
Nellie, flushed, and still seeming as it were shamefaced, with eyes that shone like stars, ran after me out on the stairs, and begged me to come back early.
I promised to be sure to be back to dinner, and as early as possible.
To begin with I went to the Ichmenyevs.
They were both in Anna Andreyevna was quite ill; Nikolay Sergeyitch was sitting in his study.
He heard that I had come, but I knew that, a usual, he would not come out for a quarter of an hour, so as to give us time to talk.
I did not want to upset Anna Andreyevna too much, and so I softened my account of the previous evening as far as I could, but I told the truth. To my surprise, though my old friend was disappointed, she was not astonished to hear the possibility of a rupture.
“Well, my dear boy, it’s just as I thought,” she said.
“When you’d gone I pondered over it, and made up my mind that it wouldn’t come to pass.
We’ve not deserved such a blessing, besides he’s such a mean man; one can’t expect anything good to come from him.
It shows what he is that he’s taking ten thousand roubles from us for nothing. He knows it’s for nothing, but he takes it all the same.
He’s robbing us of our last crust of bread. Ichmenyevka will be sold.
And Natasha’s right and sensible not to believe him.
But do you know, my dear boy,” she went on dropping her voice, “my poor man! My poor man!
He’s absolutely against this marriage.
He let it out. ‘I won’t have it,’ said he.
At first I thought it was only foolishness; no, meant it.
What will happen to her then, poor darling?
The he’ll curse her utterly.
And how about Alyosha? What does he say?”
And she went on questioning me for a long time, and as usual she sighed and moaned over every answer I gave her.
Of late I noticed that she seemed to have quite lost her balance.
Every piece of news upset her.
Her anxiety over Natasha was ruining her health and her nerves.
The old man came in in his dressinggown and slippers. He complained of being feverish, but looked fondly at his wife, and all the time that I was there he was looking after her like a nurse peeping into her face, and seeming a little timid with her in fact There was a great deal of tenderness in the way he looked at her He was frightened at her illness; he felt he would be bereaved of everything on earth if he lost her.