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Volume I, Part Three, Chapter IV

They all separated, but, except for Anatole, who fell asleep the moment he got into bed, no one slept for a long time that night.

"Is he really to be my husband, this stranger, this handsome, kind man; above all — kind," thought Princess Marya, and fear, which had almost never come to her, came upon her. She was afraid to look round; it seemed to her that someone was standing there behind the screens, in the dark corner. And this someone was he — the devil, and he was this man with the white forehead, black eyebrows, and red mouth.

She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room.

Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the winter garden for a long time that evening, vainly expecting someone and now smiling at someone, now moved to tears by the imagined words pauvre mère, reproaching her for her fall.

The little princess grumbled at her maid because the bed was badly made. She could not lie either on her side or on her back. Everything was heavy and awkward. Her stomach hindered her. It hindered her more than ever, precisely tonight, because the presence of Anatole vividly transported her to another time, when this was not the case and everything was light and merry for her. She sat in a jacket and mobcap in an armchair. Katya, sleepy and with an unplaited braid, for the third time was turning over and fluffing the heavy featherbed, muttering something.

— I told you that everything is bumps and hollows, — the little princess repeated, — I would be glad to fall asleep myself, so it's not my fault. And her voice quivered, as if she were a child getting ready to cry.

The old prince, too, did not sleep. Tikhon, half asleep, heard him pacing angrily and sniffing his nose. The old prince felt as though he had been insulted in the person of his daughter. The insult was all the more painful because it concerned not him, but another, his daughter, whom he loved more than himself. He told himself that he would think over this whole matter and find what was just and what he ought to do, but instead of that he only irritated himself more.

"The first man who came along turned up — and the father and everything are forgotten, and she runs upstairs, does her hair, and wags her tail, and is not like herself! She's glad to throw off her father! And I knew that she would take the first one. Fr… fr… fr… And couldn't I see that this blockhead was only looking at Bourienka (I must send her away)! And how can she have so little pride as not to understand it! If not for herself, if she has no pride, then for me, at least. I must show her that this blockhead doesn't even think of her, but only looks at Bourienne. She has no pride, but I will show it to her…"

Telling his daughter that she was deceiving herself, that Anatole intended to court Bourienne, the old prince knew that he would wound Princess Marya's vanity, and his business (his desire not to part with his daughter) would be won, and so he calmed down on this. He called Tikhon and began to undress.

"And what brought them here! — he thought while Tikhon was throwing the nightshirt over his dry, senile body, overgrown with grey hair on the chest. — I didn't invite them. They came to upset my life. And there isn't much of it left."

— To the devil! — he muttered, while his head was still covered by the shirt.

Tikhon knew the prince's habit of sometimes expressing his thoughts aloud, and so met with an unvarying face the interrogatively angry look of the face that emerged from the shirt.

— Have you gone to bed? — the prince asked.

Tikhon, like all good valets, knew the scent of the master's thoughts. He guessed that the question was about Prince Vasili and his son.

— They deigned to go to bed and have put out the lights, your excellency.

— Not for anything, not for anything… — the prince muttered rapidly, and thrusting his feet into slippers and his arms into a dressing gown, he went to the sofa on which he slept.

Although nothing had been said between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne, they completely understood each other in regard to the first part of the romance, up to the appearance of the pauvre mère, understood that they had much to say to each other secretly, and so from morning they sought an opportunity to see each other alone. While the princess went at her usual hour to her father, Mademoiselle Bourienne met Anatole in the winter garden.

Princess Marya approached the door of the study that day with particular trepidation. It seemed to her that not only did everyone know that her fate was being decided today, but that they also knew that she was thinking about it. She read this expression in Tikhon's face and in the face of Prince Vasili's valet, who met her in the corridor with hot water and bowed low to her.

The old prince was extremely affectionate and solicitous in his manner with his daughter that morning. Princess Marya well knew this expression of solicitousness. It was the expression that used to be on his face in the moments when his dry hands clenched into a fist with vexation because Princess Marya did not understand an arithmetic problem, and he, getting up, would walk away from her and in a quiet voice repeat the same words several times.

He at once got down to business, using "you" [vy].

— I have been made an offer concerning you, — he said, smiling unnaturally. — You, I suppose, have guessed, — he continued, — that Prince Vasili came here and brought his ward (for some reason Prince Nikolai Andreevich called Anatole a ward) not for my beautiful eyes. A proposal was made me yesterday concerning you. And as you know my rules, I refer it to you.

— How am I to understand you, mon père? — said the princess, growing pale and blushing.

— How to understand! — the father cried angrily. — Prince Vasili finds you to his taste for a daughter-in-law and makes you a proposal for his ward. That's how to understand it. How to understand it?!… And I am asking you.

— I do not know how you, mon père, — the princess whispered.

— I? I? What have I to do with it? Leave me out of it. I'm not the one getting married. What do you want? That is what we must know.

The princess saw that her father was ill-disposed to this matter, but it occurred to her at that very moment that now or never her life's fate would be decided. She lowered her eyes so as not to see the gaze, under the influence of which she felt she could not think, but could only submit from habit, and said:

— I desire only one thing — to do your will, — she said, — but if my desire must be expressed…

She did not manage to finish. The prince interrupted her.

— And splendid! — he shouted. — He'll take you with your dowry, and by the way will take Mademoiselle Bourienne. She will be the wife, and you…

The prince stopped. He noticed the impression these words produced on his daughter. She had lowered her head and was ready to weep.

— Well, well, I'm joking, I'm joking, — he said. — Remember one thing, princess: I hold to the principle that a girl has a full right to choose. And I give you freedom. Remember one thing: the happiness of your life depends on your decision. It has nothing to do with me.

— But I do not know… mon père.

— Nothing to talk about! He's commanded, and he'll marry whoever he's told to, not just you; but you are free to choose… Go to your room, think it over, and in an hour come to me and say in his presence: yes or no. I know you will pray. Well, pray if you please. Only you'd better think. Step lively.

— Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no! — he still shouted while the princess, swaying as in a fog, had already gone out of the study.

Her fate was decided, and decided happily. But what her father had said about Mademoiselle Bourienne, — that hint was terrible. Untrue, let us hope, but still it was terrible, she could not help thinking about it. She was going straight ahead through the winter garden, seeing and hearing nothing, when suddenly the familiar whisper of Mademoiselle Bourienne roused her. She raised her eyes and two paces away saw Anatole, who had embraced the Frenchwoman and was whispering something to her. Anatole with a terrible expression on his handsome face looked back at Princess Marya, and in the first second did not let go of Mademoiselle Bourienne's waist, who had not seen her.

"Who is here? Why? Wait!" Anatole's face seemed to say. Princess Marya looked at them in silence. She could not comprehend it. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne uttered a cry and ran away. Anatole with a merry smile bowed to Princess Marya, as if inviting her to laugh at this strange incident, and, shrugging his shoulders, went to the door leading to his own half.

An hour later Tikhon came to call Princess Marya. He called her to the prince and added that Prince Vasili Sergeich was there too. The princess, while Tikhon came, was sitting on the sofa in her room and holding in her arms the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Marya softly stroked her head. The princess's beautiful eyes, with all their former calm and radiance, looked with tender love and pity at the pretty little face of Mademoiselle Bourienne.

— Non, princesse, je suis perdue pour toujours dans votre coeur, [No, princess, I am lost forever in your heart,] — said Mademoiselle Bourienne.

— Pourquoi? Je vous aime plus, que jamais, — said Princess Marya, et je tâcherai de faire tout ce qui est en mon pouvoir pour votre bonheur. [Why? I love you more than ever, and I will try to do all in my power for your happiness.]

— Mais vous me méprisez, vous si pure, vous ne comprendrez jamais cet égarement de la passion. Ah, ce n'est que ma pauvre mère… [But you despise me, you so pure, you will never understand this infatuation of passion. Ah, if only my poor mother…]

— Je comprends tout, [I understand everything,] — answered Princess Marya, smiling sadly. — Calm yourself, my friend. I will go to my father, — she said and went out.

Prince Vasili, throwing back his legs, with a snuffbox in his hands, and as if deeply moved himself, as if pitying himself and laughing at his own sensibility, was sitting with a smile of deep emotion on his face when Princess Marya entered. He hastily carried a pinch of snuff to his nose.

— Ah, ma bonne, ma bonne, [Ah, my dear, my dear,] — he said, getting up and taking her by both hands. He sighed and added: — Le sort de mon fils est en vos mains. Décidez, ma bonne, ma chère, ma douce Marie, qui j'ai toujours aimée, comme ma fille. [The fate of my son is in your hands. Decide, my good, my dear, my sweet Marie, whom I have always loved, like my daughter.]

He moved away. A real tear appeared in his eyes.

— Fr… fr… — snorted Prince Nikolai Andreevich.

— The prince in the name of his ward… son, makes you a proposal. Do you or do you not want to be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin? Say: yes or no! — he cried, — and then I reserve the right to say my opinion as well. Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion, — added Prince Nikolai Andreevich, turning to Prince Vasili and answering his imploring expression. — Yes or no?

— My desire, mon père, is never to leave you, never to separate my life from yours. I do not want to marry, — she said resolutely, glancing with her beautiful eyes at Prince Vasili and at her father.

— Nonsense, stupidity! Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! — cried Prince Nikolai Andreevich, frowning, took his daughter by the hand, drew her to him, and did not kiss her, but only bringing his forehead to hers, touched her and squeezed her hand, which he held, so that she winced and cried out.

Prince Vasili got up.

— Ma chère, je vous dirai, que c'est un moment que je n'oublierai jamais, jamais; mais, ma bonne, est-ce que vous ne nous donnerez pas un peu d'espérance de toucher ce coeur si bon, si généreux. Dites, que peut-être… L'avenir est si grand. Dites: peut-être. [My dear, I will tell you, that this is a moment I shall never, never forget; but, my good one, will you not give us a little hope of touching this heart so good, so generous. Say that perhaps… The future is so great. Say: perhaps.]

— Prince, what I have said is all that is in my heart. I thank you for the honor, but I will never be your son's wife.

— Well, so that's the end of it, my dear fellow. Very glad to see you, very glad to see you. Go to your rooms, princess, go, — said the old prince. — Very, very glad to see you, — he repeated, embracing Prince Vasili.

"My calling is another," thought Princess Marya to herself, "my calling is to be happy with another happiness, the happiness of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, I will arrange the happiness of poor Amélie. She loves him so passionately. She repents so passionately. I will do everything to arrange a match between them. If he is not rich, Bourienne has nothing, I will ask papa, I will ask Andrei. I will be so happy when she is his wife. She is so unhappy, solitary, and without a country! And my God, how passionately she must love him, if she could forget herself so far. Perhaps I should have done the same!…" thought Princess Marya.