Oh, no, it was even stronger.
Yet the prince remained dissatisfied with what he had said to Rogozhin; and only now, at this moment of her unexpected appearance, did he understand, perhaps through immediate sensation, what had been lacking in his words to Rogozhin.
Words had been lacking expressive of horror—yes, horror!
Now, at this moment, he felt it fully; he was sure, he was fully convinced, for his own special reasons, that this woman was mad.
If a man, loving a woman more than anything in the world, or anticipating the possibility of such a love, were suddenly to see her on a chain, behind iron bars, under a warden's stick—the impression would be somewhat similar to what the prince was feeling now.
"What's the matter?" Aglaya whispered quickly, glancing at him and naively tugging at his arm.
He turned his head to her, looked at her, looked into her dark eyes, whose flashing was incomprehensible to him at that moment, tried to smile at her, but suddenly, as if instantly forgetting her, again turned his eyes to the right and again began to watch his extraordinary apparition.
At that moment Nastasya Filippovna was just walking past the young ladies' chairs.
Evgeny Pavlovich went on telling Alexandra Ivanovna something that must have been very funny and interesting, speaking quickly and animatedly.
The prince remembered Aglaya suddenly saying in a half-whisper:
"What a . . ."
The phrase was uncertain and unfinished; she instantly checked herself and did not add anything more, but that was already enough.
Nastasya Filippovna, who was walking along as if not noticing anyone in particular, suddenly turned in their direction, and seemed only now to recognize Evgeny Pavlovich.
"Hah!
Here he is!" she exclaimed, suddenly stopping. "First there's no finding him with any messengers, then, as if on purpose, he sits here where you'd never imagine . . . And I thought you were there, darling ... at your uncle's!"
Evgeny Pavlovich flushed, looked furiously at Nastasya Filippovna, but quickly turned away again.
"What?!
Don't you know?
He doesn't know yet, imagine!
He shot himself!
Your uncle shot himself this morning!
They told me earlier, at two o'clock; half the city knows by now; they say three hundred and fifty thousand in government funds are missing, others say five hundred thousand.
And here I was counting on him leaving you an inheritance; he blew it all.
A most depraved old fellow he was . . . Well, good-bye, bonne chance!* So you really won't go?
That's why you resigned in good time, smart boy!
Oh, nonsense, you knew, you knew beforehand; maybe even yesterday . . ."
Though there was certainly some purpose in this impudent pestering, this advertising of an acquaintance and an intimacy that did not exist, and there could now be no doubt of it—Evgeny Pavlovich had thought first to get rid of her somehow or other, and did his best to ignore the offender.
But Nastasya Filippovna's words struck him like a thunderbolt; hearing of his uncle's death, he went pale as a sheet and turned to the bearer of the news.
At that moment Lizaveta Prokofyevna quickly got up from her seat, got everyone up with her, and all but rushed out.
Only Prince Lev Nikolaevich stayed where he was for a second, as if undecided, and Evgeny Pavlovich went on standing there, not having come to his senses.
But the Epanchins had not managed to go twenty steps before a frightful scandal broke out.
The officer, a great friend of Evgeny Pavlovich's, who had been talking with Aglaya, was indignant in the highest degree.
"Here you simply need a whip, there's no other way with this creature!" he said almost aloud. (It seems he had been Evgeny Pavlovich's confidant even before.)
Nastasya Filippovna instantly turned to him.
Her eyes flashed; she rushed to a young man completely unknown to her who was standing two steps away and holding a thin, braided riding crop, tore it out of his hand, and struck her offender across the face as hard as she could.
All this occurred in a second . . . The officer, forgetting himself, rushed at her; Nastasya Filippovna's retinue was no longer around her; the decent middle-aged gentleman had already managed to efface himself completely, and the tipsy gentle man stood to one side and guffawed with all his might.
In a minute, of course, the police would arrive, but for that minute things would have gone badly for Nastasya Filippovna if unexpected help had not come in time: the prince, who had also stopped two paces away, managed to seize the officer by the arms from behind.
Pulling his arm free, the officer shoved him hard in the chest; the prince was sent flying about three paces and fell on a chair.
But by then *Good luck. two more defenders had turned up for Nastasya Filippovna.
Before the attacking officer stood the boxer, author of the article already familiar to the reader and an active member of Rogozhin's former band.
"Keller!
Retired lieutenant," he introduced himself with swagger.
"If you'd like to fight hand to hand, Captain, I'm at your service, to replace the weaker sex; I've gone through the whole of English boxing.
Don't push, Captain; I sympathize with the bloody offense, but I cannot allow for the right of fists with a woman before the eyes of the public.
But if, as befits a no-o-oble person, you'd prefer it in a different manner, then—naturally, you must understand me, Captain . . ."
But the captain had already recovered himself and was no longer listening to him.
At that moment Rogozhin emerged from the crowd, quickly took Nastasya Filippovna by the arm, and led her away with him.
For his part, Rogozhin seemed terribly shaken, was pale and trembling.
As he led Nastasya Filippovna away, he still had time to laugh maliciously in the officer's face and say, with the look of a triumphant shopkeeper:
"Nyah!