"I'm not staying anywhere yet."
"So you came to me straight from the train?
And . . . with your luggage?"
"All the luggage I have is a little bundle of linen, and nothing else; I usually carry it with me.
I'll have time to take a room in the evening."
"Then you still intend to take a room?"
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Judging by your words, I was of a mind that you had come straight to me."
"That could be, but not otherwise than by your invitation.
Though, I confess, I wouldn't stay even then, not that there's any reason, but just ... by character."
"Well, that makes it opportune that I did not and do not invite you.
Excuse me, Prince, but to clarify it all at once: since you and I have just concluded that there can be no talk between us of being related—though, naturally, I'd find it very flattering—it means that . . ."
"It means that I can get up and leave?" the prince rose slightly, laughing even somehow merrily, despite all the apparent embarrassment of his situation.
"There, by God, General, though I have absolutely no practical knowledge either of local customs or of how people normally live here, things went with us just now as I thought they were certain to go.
Well, maybe that's how it should be . . . And you also didn't answer my letter then . . . Well, good-bye and forgive me for bothering you."
The prince's gaze was so gentle at that moment, and his smile was so free of the least shade of any concealed hostility, that the general suddenly stopped and somehow suddenly looked at his visitor in a different way; the whole change of view occurred in a single instant.
"But you know, Prince," he said in an almost totally different voice, "after all, I don't know you, and Elizaveta Prokofyevna might want to have a look at her namesake . . . Perhaps you'd like to wait, if your time will keep."
"Oh, my time will keep; my time is all my own" (and the prince immediately put his round, soft-brimmed hat on the table).
"I confess, I counted on Elizaveta Prokofyevna maybe remembering that I had written to her.
Your servant, when I was waiting for you earlier, suspected that I had come to beg from you out of poverty; I noticed it, and you must have given him strict instructions about that; but I really didn't come for that, I really came only so as to get to know people.
Only I have a slight suspicion that I've disturbed you, and that troubles me."
"I'll tell you what, Prince," the general said with a cheerful smile, "if you are indeed the way you seem to be, it might very well be pleasant to become acquainted with you; only, you see, I'm a busy man and presently I'll sit down again to look something over and sign it, and then I'll go to see his highness, and then to my department, and the result is that though I'm glad to meet people ... I mean, good people . . . still. . . However, I'm so convinced of your perfect upbringing that . . . And how old are you, Prince?"
"Twenty-six."
"Hah!
And I thought you were much younger."
"Yes, people say I have a youthful face.
But I'll learn not to disturb you and figure it out quickly, because I myself don't like to disturb . . . And, finally, it seems to me that we're such different people, by the look of it... in many ways, that we perhaps cannot have many points in common, only, you know, I personally don't believe in that last notion, because it often only seems that there are no points in common, when there really are a lot ... it comes from people's laziness, that they sort themselves out by looks and can't find anything . . . But, anyhow, maybe I've begun to bore you? It's as if you . . ."
"A couple of words, sir: do you have some property at least?
Or perhaps you intend to take something up?
I apologize for being so . . ."
"Good heavens, I understand your question and appreciate it very much.
So far I have no property, nor any occupation either, and I should have, sir.
And the money I now have isn't mine, it was given to me by Schneider, the professor who treated me and taught me in Switzerland, for the trip, and he gave me just enough, so that now, for instance, I have only a few kopecks left.
I have one bit of business, it's true, and I'm in need of advice, but . . ."
"Tell me, how do you intend to subsist meanwhile, and what were your intentions?" the general interrupted.
"I wanted to do some sort of work."
"Oh, so you're a philosopher! But still . . . are you aware of having any talents, any abilities, at least of some sort, that could earn you your daily bread?
Again, I apologize . . ."
"Oh, don't apologize.
No, sir, I don't think I have any talents or special abilities; even the contrary, because I'm a sick man and have had no regular education.
As for daily bread, it seems to me . . ."
The general interrupted again, and again began to ask questions.
The prince told him once more all that has already been told.
It turned out that the general had heard of the late Pavlishchev and had even known him personally.
Why Pavlishchev had concerned himself with his upbringing, the prince himself was unable to explain—however, it might simply have been out of old friendship for his late father.
The prince, at his parents' death, was left still a little child; all his life he lived and grew up in the country, since his health also called for village air.
Pavlishchev entrusted him to some old lady landowners, his relations; first a governess was hired for him, then a tutor; he said, however, that though he remembered everything, he was hardly capable of giving a satisfactory account of it, because he had been unaware of many things.
The frequent attacks of his illness had made almost an idiot of him (the prince actually said "idiot").
He told, finally, how one day in Berlin, Pavlishchev met Professor Schneider, a Swiss, who studied precisely such illnesses, had an institution in Switzerland, in canton Valais, used his own method of treatment by cold water and gymnastics, treated idiotism, insanity, also provided education, and generally attended to spiritual development; that Pavlishchev had sent him to Schneider in Switzerland about five years ago, and had died himself two years ago, suddenly, without making any arrangements; that Schneider had kept him and gone on with his treatment for another two years; that he had not cured him but had helped him very much; and that, finally, by his own wish and owing to a certain new circumstance, he had now sent him to Russia.
The general was very surprised.