I’ll lie down a bit.
If you come I’ll introduce you to Alexandra Semyonovna, and if there’s time we’ll discuss poetry.”
“Well, and that too?”
“All right; that, too, perhaps.”
“Perhaps I will come. I’ll certainly come.”
Chapter VI
ANNA ANDREYEVNA had long been expecting me.
What I had told her the day before, about Natasha’s note, had greatly excited her curiosity; and she had expected me much earlier in the morning, by ten o’clock at the latest.
By the time I turned up at two o’clock in the afternoon the poor woman’s agonies of suspense had reached an extreme pitch.
She was longing, too, to talk to me of the new hopes aroused in her the day before, and of Nikolay Sergeyitch, who had been ailing since then, who was gloomy, and at the same time seemed specially tender to her.
When I made my appearance she received me with an expression of coldness and displeasure in her face, hardly opened her mouth, and showed no sign of interest, almost as though she would ask why I had come, and what possessed me to drop in every day.
She was angry at my coming so late.
But I was in a hurry, and without further delay I described to her the whole scene at Natasha’s the evening before.
As soon as she heard of the elder prince’s visit and his solemn proposal, her assumed indifference vanished instantly.
I cannot find words to describe how delighted she was; she seemed quite beside herself, crossed herself, shed tears, bowed down before the ikons, embraced me, and was on the point of running to Nikolay Sergeyitch to tell him of her joy.
Bless me, my dear, why, it’s all the insults and humiliation he’s been through that are making him ill, and as soon as he knows that full reparation will be made to Natasha, he’ll forget it all in a twinkling.”
I had much ado to dissuade her.
Though the good lady had lived twentyfive years with her husband she did not understand him.
She was desperately anxious, too, to set off with me immediately to Natasha’s.
I put it to her not only that Nikolay Sergeyitch would disapprove of her action, but that we might even ruin the whole business by going.
With difficulty she was brought to think better of it, but she detained me another halfhour unnecessarily, talking herself the whole time.
“With whom shall I be left here?” she said, “sitting alone within four walls with such joy in my heart?”
At last I persuaded her to let me go, reminding her that Natasha must be sick of waiting for me.
She made the sign of the cross several times to bless me on my way, sent a special blessing to Natasha, and almost shed tears when I absolutely refused to come back again that evening, unless anything special had happened at Natasha’s.
I did not see Nicholay Sergeyitch on this occasion; he had been awake all night, complained of a headache, a chill, and was now asleep in his study.
Natasha, too, had been expecting me all the morning.
When I went in she was, as usual, walking up and down the room, with her hands clasped, meditating.
Even now when I think of her I always see her alone in a poor room, dreamy, deserted, waiting with folded hands and downcast eyes, walking aimlessly up and down.
Still walking up and down she asked me in a low voice why I was so late.
I gave her a brief account of all my adventures, but she scarcely listened.
One could see she was in great anxiety about something.
“Anything fresh?” I asked her.
“Nothing fresh,” she answered. But I guessed at once from her face that there was something fresh, and that she was expecting me on purpose to tell me, and she would tell me, not at once but just as I was going, as she always did.
That was always our habit.
I was used to her and I waited.
We began, of course, talking of the previous evening.
I was particularly struck by the fact that we were quite agreed in our impression of Prince Valkovsky; and she positively disliked him, disliked him much more than she had at the time.
And when we analysed the visit, point by point, Natasha suddenly said:
“Listen, Vanya, you know it’s always like that, if one doesn’t like a man at first, it’s almost a sure sign that one will like him afterwards.
That’s how it’s always been with me, anyway.”
“Let us hope so, Natasha.
And this is my opinion, and it’s a final one. I went over it all, and what I deduced was that though the prince was perhaps Jesuitical, he is giving his consent to your marriage genuinely and in earnest.”
Natasha stood still in the middle of the room and looked at me sternly.
Her whole face was transformed; her lips twitched a little.
“But how could he in a case like this begin deceiving and ... lying?”
“Of course not, of course not!” I assented hurriedly.
“Of course he wasn’t lying.
It seems to me there’s no need to think of that.
There’s no excuse to be found for such deception.
And, indeed, am I so abject in his eyes that he could jeer at me like that?