"But I didn't sleep all night, then I walked and walked, got to the music . . ."
"What music?"
"Where they played yesterday, and then I came here, sat down, thought and thought, and fell asleep."
"Ah, so that's how it was?
That changes everything in your favor . . . And why did you go to the music?"
"I don't know, I just . . ."
"All right, all right, later; you keep interrupting me, and what do I care if you went to the music?
Who was that woman you dreamed about?"
"It was . . . about . . . you saw her . . ."
"I understand, I understand very well.
You're very much . . . How did you dream of her, what did she look like?
However, I don't want to know anything," she suddenly snapped in vexation, "don't interrupt me ..."
She waited a while, as if gathering her courage or trying to drive her vexation away.
"Here's the whole matter I invited you for: I want to propose that you be my friend.
Why do you suddenly stare at me like that?" she added almost with wrath.
The prince was indeed peering at her intently at that moment, noticing that she had again begun to blush terribly.
On such occasions, the more she blushed, the more she seemed to be angry with herself for it, as showed clearly in her flashing eyes; usually she would transfer her wrath a moment later to the one she was talking with, whether or not it was his fault, and begin to quarrel with him.
Knowing and feeling her wildness and shyness, she usually entered little into conversation and was more taciturn than the other sisters, sometimes even much too taciturn.
When, especially on such ticklish occasions, she absolutely had to speak, she would begin the conversation with an extraordinary haughtiness and as if with a sort of defiance.
She always felt beforehand when she was beginning or about to begin to blush.
"Perhaps you don't want to accept my proposal?" she glanced haughtily at the prince.
"Oh, no, I do, only it's quite unnecessary . . . that is, I never thought there was any need to propose such a thing," the prince was abashed.
"And what did you think?
Why would I have invited you here?
What do you have in mind?
However, maybe you consider me a little fool, as they all do at home?"
"I didn't know they considered you a fool. I ... I don't."
"You don't?
Very intelligent on your part.
The way you put it is especially intelligent."
"In my opinion, you may even be very intelligent at times," the prince went on. "Earlier you suddenly said something very intelligent.
You said of my doubt about Ippolit: 'There's only truth in it, and that makes it unfair.'
I'll remember that and think about it."
Aglaya suddenly flushed with pleasure.
All these changes took place in her extremely openly and with extraordinary swiftness.
The prince also rejoiced and even laughed with joy, looking at her.
"Now listen," she began again, "I've been waiting for you a long time, in order to tell you all this, I've been waiting ever since you wrote me that letter from there, and even earlier . . . You already heard half of it from me yesterday: I consider you a most honest and truthful man, the most honest and truthful of all, and if they say your mind . . . that is, that you're sometimes sick in your mind, it isn't right; I've decided and argued about it, because though you are in fact sick in your mind (you won't, of course, be angry at that, I'm speaking from a higher point), the main mind in you is better than in any of them, such as they would never even dream of, because there are two minds: the main one and the non-main one.
Well?
Isn't that so?"
"Maybe so," the prince barely uttered; his heart trembled and pounded terribly.
"I just knew you'd understand," she went on gravely.
"Prince Shch. and Evgeny Pavlych don't understand anything about these two minds, neither does Alexandra, but imagine: maman did."
"You're very much like Lizaveta Prokofyevna."
"How's that?
Can it be?" Aglaya was surprised.
"By God, it's so."
"I thank you," she said after some thought. "I'm very glad that I'm like maman.
So you respect her very much?" she added, quite unaware of the naivety of the question.
"Very, very much, and I'm glad you've understood it so directly."
"I'm glad, too, because I've noticed that people sometimes . . . laugh at her.