Could any man be capable of such an insult?”
“Of course not, of course not,” I agreed, thinking to myself, “you’re thinking of nothing else as you pace up and down, my poor girl, and very likely you’re more doubtful about it than I am.”
“Ah, how I could wish he were coming back sooner!” she said.
“He wanted to spend the whole evening with me, and then.... It must have been important business, since he’s given it all up and gone away.
You don’t know what it was, Vanya?
You haven’t heard anything?”
“The Lord only knows.
You know he’s always making money.
I’ve heard he’s taking up a share in some contract in Petersburg.
We know nothing about business, Natasha.”
“Of course we don’t.
Alyosha talked of some letter yesterday.”
“News of some sort.
Has Alyosha been here?
“Yes.”
“Early?”
“At twelve o’clock; he sleeps late, you know.
He stayed a little while.
I sent him off to Katerina Fyodorovna. Shouldn’t I have, Vanya?”
“Why, didn’t he mean to go himself?”
“Yes, he did.”
She was about to say more, but checked herself.
I looked at her and waited.
Her face was sad.
I would have questioned her, but she sometimes particularly disliked questions.
“He’s a strange boy.” she said at last, with a slight twist of her mouth, trying not to look at me.
“Why?
I suppose something’s happened?”
“No, nothing; I just thought so.... He was sweet, though. . . . But already . . .”
“All his cares and anxieties are over now,” said I.
Natasha looked intently and searchingly at me.
She felt inclined perhaps to answer, “he hadn’t many cares or anxieties before,” but she fancied that my words covered the same thought. She pouted.
But she became friendly and cordial again at once.
This time she was extraordinarily gentle.
I spent more than an hour with her.
She was very uneasy.
The prince had frightened her.
I noticed from some of her questions that she was very anxious to know what sort of impression she had made on him.
Had she behaved properly?
Hadn’t she betrayed her joy too openly?
Had she been too ready to take offence?
Or on the contrary too conciliatory?
He mustn’t imagine anything.
He mustn’t laugh at her!
He mustn’t feel contempt for her! . . .
Her cheeks glowed like fire at the thought!
How can you be so upset simply at a bad man’s imagining something?
Let him imagine anything!” said I.
“Why is he bad?” she asked.
Natasha was suspicious but purehearted and straightforward.