And she flung the letter at me.
True, she wanted to keep it—I could see that, I noticed it—but she changed her mind and flung it at me: 'If you, such as you are, were entrusted with delivering it, then go and deliver it. ..' She even got offended.
If she didn't feel ashamed to say it in front of me, it means she got offended.
A hot-tempered lady!"
"And where is the letter now?"
"Still here with me, sir."
And he handed the prince the note from Aglaya to Gavrila Ardalionovich, which the latter triumphantly showed to his sister that same morning, two hours later.
"This letter cannot remain with you."
"For you, for you!
I brought it for you, sir," Lebedev picked up hotly. "Now I'm yours again, entirely, from head to heart, your servant, sir, after a fleeting betrayal, sir!
Punish my heart, spare my beard, as Thomas Morus30 said ... in England and in Great Britain, sir.
Mea culpa, mea culpa*31 so says the Roman papa . . . that is, he's the pope of Rome, but I call him the
'Roman papa.'"
"This letter must be sent at once," the prince bustled, "I'll deliver it."
"But wouldn't it be better, wouldn't it be better, my most well-mannered Prince, wouldn't it be better, sir . . . sort of, sir!"
Lebedev made a strange, ingratiating grimace; he suddenly fidgeted terribly in his chair, as if he had suddenly been pricked by a needle, and, winking slyly, gestured and indicated something with his hands.
"What do you mean?" the prince asked menacingly.
"Open it beforehand, sir!" he whispered ingratiatingly and as if confidentially.
The prince jumped up in such fury that Lebedev was about to run away, but having reached the door, he stopped, waiting to see if he would be pardoned.
"Eh, Lebedev!
Is it possible, is it possible to reach such mean disorder as you have?" the prince cried ruefully.
Lebedev's features brightened.
"I'm mean, mean!" he approached at once, with tears, beating his breast.
"That's loathsome!"
"Precisely loathsome, sir.
That's the word, sir!"
"And what is this way you have ... of acting so strangely?
You're . . . simply a spy!
Why did you write an anonymous letter and trouble . . . that most noble and kind woman?
Why, finally, does Aglaya Ivanovna have no right to correspond with whomever she likes?
Why did you go there today, to make a complaint?
What did you hope to gain?
What moved you to turn informer?"
"Only pleasant curiosity and ... an obligingly noble soul, yes, sir!" Lebedev murmured. "But now I'm all yours, all yours again!
You can hang me!"
"Did you go to Lizaveta Prokofyevna's the way you are now?" the prince inquired with repugnance.
"No, sir . . . fresher . . . and even more decent, sir; it was after my humiliation that I achieved . . . this look, sir."
"Very well, leave me."
However, this request had to be repeated several times before the visitor finally decided to leave.
Having already opened the door, *It is my fault, it is my fault. he came back again, tiptoed to the middle of the room, and again began to make signs with his hands, showing how to open a letter; he did not dare to put this advice into words; then he went out, smiling quietly and sweetly.
All this was extremely painful to hear.
One chief and extraordinary fact stood out amidst it all: that Aglaya was in great anxiety, in great indecision, in great torment for some reason ("from jealousy," the prince whispered to himself).
It was also clear, of course, that unkind people were confusing her, and it was all the more strange that she trusted them so much.
Of course, some special plans were ripening in that inexperienced but hot and proud little head, ruinous plans, perhaps . . . and like nothing else.
The prince was extremely alarmed and in his confusion did not know what to decide.
He absolutely had to prevent something, he could feel it.
Once again he looked at the address on the sealed letter: oh, there was no doubt or anxiety for him here, because he trusted her; something else troubled him in this letter: he did not trust Gavrila Ardalionovich. And, nevertheless, he decided to give him the letter himself, personally, and had already left the house in order to do so, but on his way he changed his mind.
As if on purpose, almost at Ptitsyn's house, the prince ran into Kolya and charged him with putting the letter into his brother's hands, as if directly from Aglaya Ivanovna herself.
Kolya asked no questions and delivered it, so that Ganya never even imagined the letter had gone through so many stations.
On returning home, the prince asked to see Vera Lukyanovna, told her as much as was necessary, and calmed her down, because she had been searching for the letter and weeping all the while.