“I know very well,” she added, “that the prince wants my money.
They think I’m a perfect baby, and in fact they tell me so openly.
But I don’t think so.
I’m not a child now.
They’re strange people: they’re like children themselves What are they in such a fuss about?”
“Katerina Fyodorovna, I forgot to ask you, who are these Levinka and Borinka whom Alyosha goes to see so often?”
“They’re distant relations.
They’re very clever and very honest, but they do a dreadful lot of talking. . . . I know them . . .”
And she smiled.
“Is it true that you mean to give them a million later on?
“Oh, well, you see, what if I do? They chatter so much about that million that it’s growing quite unbearable.
Of course I shall be delighted to contribute to everything useful; what’s the good of such an immense fortune?
But what though I am going to give it some day, they’re already dividing it, discussing it, shouting, disputing what’s the best use to make of it, they even quarrel about it, so that it’s quite queer.
They’re in too great a hurry.
But they’re honest all the same and clever.
They are studying.
That’s better than going on as other people do.
Isn’t it?”
And we talked a great deal more.
She told me almost her whole life, and listened eagerly to what I told her.
She kept insisting that I should tell her more about Natasha and Alyosha.
It was twelve o’clock when Prince Valkovsky came and let me know it was time to take leave.
I said goodbye.
Katya pressed my hand warmly and looked at me expressively.
The countess asked me to come again; the prince and I went out.
I cannot refrain from one strange and perhaps quite inappropriate remark.
From my three hours’ conversation with Katya I carried away among other impressions the strange but positive conviction that she was still such a child that she had no idea of the inner significance of the relations of the sexes.
This gave an extraordinarily comic flavour to some of her reflections, and in general to the serious tone in which she talked of many very important matters.
Chapter X
“I TELL you what,” said Prince Valkovsky, as he seated himself beside me in the carriage, “what if we were to go to supper now, hein?
What do you say to that?”
“I don’t know, prince,” I answered, hesitating, “I never eat supper.”
“Well, of course, we’ll have a talk, too, over supper,” he added, looking intently and slyly into my face.
There was no misunderstanding!
“He means to speak out,” I thought; “and that’s just what I want.”
I agreed.
“That’s settled, then.
To B.‘s, in Great Morskaya.”
“A restaurant?” I asked with some hesitation.
“Yes, why not?
I don’t often have supper at home.
Surely you won’t refuse to be my guest?”
“But I’ve told you already that I never take supper.”
“But once in a way doesn’t matter; especially as I’m inviting you. . .”
Which meant he would pay for me. I am certain that he added that intentionally.
I allowed myself to be taken, but made up my mind to pay for myself in the restaurant.
We arrived.
The prince engaged a private room, and with the taste of a connoisseur selected two or three dishes.
They were expensive and so was the bottle of delicate wine which he ordered.
All this was beyond my means.