But, my dear, don't you remember the late Nikolai Lvovich?
Wasn't he still in Tver . . . when you ... ?"
"I don't remember Nikolai Lvovich.
Is that your father?" she asked the prince.
"Yes. But I believe he died in Elisavetgrad, not in Tver," the prince observed timidly to the general.
"I heard it from Pavlishchev . . ."
"In Tver," the general confirmed. "Just before his death he was transferred to Tver, and even before the illness developed.
You were still too little and wouldn't remember either the transfer or the trip. And Pavlishchev could have made a mistake, though he was a most excellent man."
"You knew Pavlishchev, too?"
"He was a rare man, but I was a personal witness.
I blessed him on his deathbed . . ."
"My father died while he was on trial," the prince observed again, "though I could never find out precisely for what. He died in the hospital."
"Oh, it was that case to do with Private Kolpakov, and without doubt the prince would have been vindicated."
"Really?
You know for certain?" the prince asked with particular curiosity.
"What else?" cried the general.
"The court recessed without any decision.
An impossible case!
A mysterious case, one might say: Staff-captain Larionov, the commander of the detachment, dies; the prince is assigned to perform his duties temporarily. Good.
Private Kolpakov commits a theft—of footgear from a comrade— and drinks it up. Good.
The prince—and, mark you, this was in the presence of a sergeant-major and a corporal—reprimands Kolpakov and threatens him with a birching.
Very good.
Kolpakov goes to the barracks, lies down on his bunk, and a quarter of an hour later he dies.
Splendid, but it's an unexpected, almost impossible case.
Thus and so, Kolpakov is buried; the prince makes a report, after which Kolpakov is struck from the rolls.
What could be better, you might think?
But exactly six months later, at a brigade review, Private Kolpakov turns up, as if nothing had happened, in the third detachment of the second battalion of the Novozemlyansky infantry regiment,30 same brigade and same division!"
"How's that?" cried the prince, beside himself with astonishment.
"It's not so, it's a mistake!" Nina Alexandrovna turned to him suddenly, looking at him almost in anguish.
"Mon mari se trompe."*
"But, my dear, se trompe is easy to say, but try and decide such a case yourself!
They were all deadlocked.
I'd be the first to say qu'on se trompe.
But, to my misfortune, I was a witness and served personally on the commission.
All the confrontations showed that this was the very same, absolutely the very same Private Kolpakov who had been buried six months earlier with the routine ceremony and to the roll of drums.
The case is indeed a rare one, almost impossible, I agree, but . . ."
"Papa, your dinner is ready," Varvara Ardalionovna announced, coming into the room.
"Ah, that's splendid, excellent!
I'm really hungry . . . But this case, you might say, is even psychological ..."
"The soup will get cold again," Varya said impatiently. *My husband is mistaken.
"Coming, coming," the general muttered, leaving the room. "And despite all inquiries . . ." could still be heard in the corridor.
"You'll have to excuse Ardalion Alexandrovich a great deal if you stay with us," Nina Alexandrovna said to the prince, "though he won't bother you very much; and he dines by himself.
You must agree, each of us has his own shortcomings and his own . .. special features—some, perhaps, still more than those at whom fingers are habitually pointed.
There's one thing I want very much to ask you: if my husband ever addresses you concerning the payment of the rent, tell him you have given it to me.
That is, whatever you might give to Ardalion Alexandrovich would go on your account in any case, but I ask you only for the sake of accuracy . . . What is it, Varya?"
Varya came back into the room and silently handed her mother the portrait of Nastasya Filippovna.
Nina Alexandrovna gave a start and began studying it as if in fright, but then with an overwhelmingly bitter feeling.
In the end she looked questioningly at Varya.
"She made him a present of it herself today," said Varya, "and this evening everything is to be decided."
"This evening!" Nina Alexandrovna repeated in a half-whisper, as if in despair. "So, then?