In her opinion, everything that had happened was "unpardonable and even criminal nonsense, a fantastic picture, stupid and absurd!"
First of all there was the fact that "this wretched princeling is a sick idiot, second of all he's a fool, who neither knows society nor has any place in society: to whom can he be shown, where can he be tucked in? He's some sort of unpardonable democrat, without even the least rank, and . . . and . . . what will old Belokonsky say?
And is this, is this the sort of husband we imagined and intended for Aglaya?"
The last argument was, naturally, the most important.
The mother's heart trembled at the thought, bled and wept, though at the same time something stirred in that heart which suddenly said to her: "And what makes the prince not the sort you want?"
Well, it was these objections against her own heart that were most troublesome for Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
Aglaya's sisters for some reason liked the notion of the prince; it did not even seem very strange to them; in short, they might even suddenly turn out to be completely on his side.
But they both decided to keep silent.
It had been noted once and for all in the family that the more stubborn and persistent Lizaveta Prokofyevna's objections and retorts became, on some general and disputed family point, the more it could serve them all as a sign that she might be about to agree on that point.
Alexandra Ivanovna, however, could never be completely silent.
Having long since acknowledged her as her advisor, the mother constantly summoned her now and asked for her opinions, and above all her memories— that is: "How had it all happened?
Why had no one seen it?
Why had there been no talk then?
What had this nasty 'poor knight' signified then?
Why was it that she, Lizaveta Prokofyevna, was the only one doomed to worry about everyone, to notice and foresee everything, while all the rest were merely—woolgathering?" etc., etc.
Alexandra Ivanovna was cautious at first and only observed that she thought her father's idea was quite correct, that in the eyes of society the choice of Prince Myshkin as a husband for one of the Epanchin girls might appear very satisfactory.
She gradually became excited and added that the prince was by no means a "little fool" and never had been, and as for his significance—God alone knew what the significance of a respectable man would consist of in our Russia a few years hence: success in the service, as used to be necessary, or something else?
To all this the mother immediately rapped out that Alexandra was "a freethinker and that it was all their cursed woman question."
Half an hour later she went to the city, and from there to Kamenny Island, in order to catch Princess Belokonsky, who, as if on purpose, happened to be in Petersburg just then, though she would be leaving soon.
The princess was Aglaya's godmother.
"Old" Belokonsky listened to all the feverish and desperate confessions of Lizaveta Prokofyevna and was not touched in the least by the tears of the disconcerted mother of the family, but even looked at her mockingly.
She was a terrible despot; in friendship, even an old friendship, she could not bear equality, and she decidedly looked upon Lizaveta Prokofyevna as her protegee, just as thirty-five years ago, and she simply could not be reconciled with the sharpness and independence of her character.
She noticed, among other things, that "it seemed they had all rushed too far ahead there, as was their habit, and made a mountain out of a molehill; that listen as she might, she was not convinced that anything serious had actually happened; that it might be better to wait until something did; that the prince was, in her opinion, a respectable young man, though sick, strange, and much too insignificant.
The worst thing was that he openly kept a woman."
Lizaveta Prokofyevna realized very well that Belokonsky was a bit cross about the unsuccess of Evgeny Pavlovich, whom she had recommended.
She returned home to Pavlovsk still more irritated than when she had left, and everyone immediately got it from her, above all because they had "lost their minds," because decidedly nobody else did things the way they did them; and "what's the hurry?
What has happened?
However much I look at it, I can in no way conclude that anything has actually happened!
Wait until something does!
No matter what Ivan Fyodorovich may have fancied, are we going to make a mountain out of a molehill?" etc., etc.
The result, therefore, was that they needed to calm down, watch cool-headedly, and wait.
But, alas, the calm did not hold out for even ten minutes.
The first blow to cool-headedness came from the news of what had happened while the mother absented herself to Kamenny Island. (Lizaveta Prokofyevna's trip took place the morning after the prince had come calling past midnight instead of before ten.) The sisters answered their mother's impatient questioning in great detail, and said, first of all, that "precisely nothing, it seemed, had happened while she was away," that the prince came, that Aglaya took a long time, half an hour, before coming out to him, and when she did come out, suggested at once that she and the prince play chess; that the prince did not know the first thing about chess, and Aglaya beat him at once; she became very merry and shamed the prince terribly for his lack of skill, and laughed at him terribly, so that the prince was a pity to see.
Then she suggested that they play cards, a game of "fools."
But here it turned out quite the opposite: the prince proved to be as good at "fools" as ... as a professor; he played masterfully; Aglaya cheated, put cards back, stole his own tricks before his very eyes, and all the same he left her each time as the "fool"; five times in a row.
Aglaya flew into a rage, even quite forgot herself; she said so many impudent and sarcastic things to the prince that he even stopped laughing, and he turned quite pale when she told him, finally, that "she would not set foot in this room while he was sitting there, and that it was even shameless on his part to call on them, and in the night at that, past midnight, after all that had happened."
She then slammed the door and left.
The prince went out as if from a funeral, despite all their attempts to comfort him.
Suddenly, fifteen minutes after the prince left, Aglaya came running down to the terrace from upstairs, and in such a hurry that she did not even wipe her eyes, which were wet with tears. She came running down because Kolya arrived and brought a hedgehog.
They all started looking at the hedgehog; to their questions, Kolya explained that the hedgehog was not his, and that he was now walking with his comrade, another schoolboy, Kostya Lebedev, who had stayed outside and was embarrassed to come in because he was carrying an axe; that they had bought both the hedgehog and the axe from a peasant they had met.
The peasant was selling the hedgehog and took fifty kopecks for it, and then they persuaded him to sell the axe as well, because it was an opportunity, and also a very good axe.
Here Aglaya suddenly began pestering Kolya terribly to sell her the hedgehog at once, turned inside out, even called Kolya "dear."
Kolya would not agree for a long time, but finally gave in and called Kostya Lebedev, who indeed came in carrying the axe and feeling very embarrassed.
But here it suddenly turned out that the hedgehog did not belong to them at all, but to a third boy, Petrov, who had given them money to buy Schlosser's History24 from some fourth boy, who, being in need of money, was selling it at a bargain price; that they set out to buy Schlosser's History, but could not help themselves and bought the hedgehog, and therefore both the hedgehog and the axe belonged to that third boy, to whom they were now taking them in place of Schlosser's History.
But Aglaya pestered them so much that they finally decided to sell her the hedgehog.
As soon as Aglaya got the hedgehog, she put it into a wicker basket with Kolya's help, covered it with a napkin, and started asking Kolya to go at once and, without stopping anywhere, take the hedgehog to the prince on her behalf, with the request that he accept it as "a token of her profoundest respect."
Kolya gladly agreed and promised to deliver it, but immediately began to pester her:
"What was the meaning of the hedgehog and of such a present?"
Aglaya replied that that was none of his business.
He replied that he was sure it contained some allegory.