Please."
"He's nice, but much too simple," said Adelaida, when the prince had gone.
"Yes, much too much," agreed Alexandra, "so that he's even slightly ridiculous."
It was as if neither had spoken her whole mind.
"However, with our faces he got out of it nicely," said Aglaya. "He flattered everyone, even maman."
"Don't be witty, please!" cried Mrs. Epanchin.
"It was not he who flattered me, but I who was flattered."
"Do you think he was trying to get out of it?" asked Adelaida.
"I don't think he's so simple."
"Well, there she goes!" Mrs. Epanchin became angry. "And in my opinion you're even more ridiculous than he is.
He's a bit simple, but he keeps his own counsel, in the most noble fashion, to be sure.
Just as I do."
"Of course, it was bad of me to let on about the portrait," the prince reflected to himself on his way to the office, feeling some remorse. "But . . . maybe it's a good thing I let on ..." A strange idea was beginning to flash in his head, though not a very clear one as yet.
Gavrila Ardalionovich was still sitting in the office and was immersed in his papers.
Evidently he did not get his salary from the joint-stock company for nothing.
He became terribly embarrassed when the prince asked about the portrait and told him how they had found out about it.
"A-a-ah!
Why did you have to blab!" he shouted in angry vexation. "You don't know anything . . . Idiot!" he muttered to himself.
"I'm sorry, I said it quite unthinkingly, just by the way.
I said that Aglaya was almost as good-looking as Nastasya Filippovna."
Ganya asked for more detail. The prince complied.
Ganya again gave him a mocking look.
"You do go on about Nastasya Filippovna . . ." he muttered, but lapsed into thought without finishing.
He was obviously alarmed.
The prince reminded him about the portrait.
"Listen, Prince," Ganya said suddenly, as if an unexpected thought had dawned on him. "I have a huge request to make of you . . . But I really don't know . . ."
He became embarrassed and did not finish; he was venturing upon something and seemed to be struggling with himself.
The prince waited silently.
Ganya studied him once more with intent, searching eyes.
"Prince," he began again, "right now they're . . . owing to a completely strange circumstance . . . ridiculous . . . and for which I'm not to blame . . . well, in short, it's irrelevant—they're a bit angry with me in there, it seems, so for the time being I'd rather not go there without being sent for.
I need terribly to talk with Aglaya Ivanovna now.
I've written a few words just in case" (a small, folded note appeared in his hand), "and I don't know how to deliver it.
Would you take it upon yourself, Prince, to deliver it to Aglaya Ivanovna, right now, but only to Aglaya Ivanovna, that is, so that nobody sees—understand?
It's not such a great secret, God knows, there's nothing to it, but . . . will you do it?"
"It's not altogether pleasant for me," said the prince.
"Ah, Prince, it's of the utmost necessity for me!" Ganya began to plead. "Maybe she'll answer . . . Believe me, only in the utmost, the very utmost case, would I turn to . . . Who else can I send it with? . . .
It's very important. . . It's terribly important for me . . ."
Ganya was terribly afraid that the prince would not agree and kept peering into his eyes with cowardly entreaty.
"Very well, I'll deliver it."
"But only so that nobody notices," the now joyful Ganya pleaded. "And another thing, Prince, I'm relying on your word of honor, eh?"
"I won't show it to anybody," said the prince.
"The note isn't sealed, but . . ." the much too flustered Ganya let slip and stopped in embarrassment.
"Oh, I won't read it," the prince replied with perfect simplicity, took the portrait, and walked out of the office.
Ganya, left alone, clutched his head.
"One word from her, and I . . . and I really may break it off! . . ."
He started pacing up and down the office, too excited and expectant to sit down to his papers again.
The prince pondered as he went; he was unpleasantly struck by the errand, and unpleasantly struck by the thought of Ganya's note to Aglaya.
But two rooms away from the drawing room he suddenly stopped, seemed to remember something, looked around, went over to the window, closer to the light, and began to look at Nastasya Filippovna's portrait.
It was as if he wanted to unriddle something hidden in that face which had also struck him earlier.
The earlier impression had scarcely left him, and now it was as if he were hastening to verify something.