Brothers -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 1533-1917 -- Fiction
“Lise,” she whispered almost in his ear, “Lise has greatly surprised me
just now, dear Alexey Fyodorovitch. She touched me, too, and so my
heart forgives her everything. Only fancy, as soon as you had gone, she
began to be truly remorseful for having laughed at you to-day and
yesterday, though she was not laughing at you, but only joking. But she
was seriously sorry for it, almost ready to cry, so that I was quite
surprised. She has never been really sorry for laughing at me, but has
only made a joke of it. And you know she is laughing at me every
minute. But this time she was in earnest. She thinks a great deal of
your opinion, Alexey Fyodorovitch, and don’t take offense or be wounded
by her if you can help it. I am never hard upon her, for she’s such a
clever little thing. Would you believe it? She said just now that you
were a friend of her childhood, ‘the greatest friend of her
childhood’—just think of that—‘greatest friend’—and what about me? She
has very strong feelings and memories, and, what’s more, she uses these
phrases, most unexpected words, which come out all of a sudden when you
least expect them. She spoke lately about a pine-tree, for instance:
there used to be a pine-tree standing in our garden in her early
childhood. Very likely it’s standing there still; so there’s no need to
speak in the past tense. Pine-trees are not like people, Alexey
Fyodorovitch, they don’t change quickly. ‘Mamma,’ she said, ‘I remember
this pine-tree as in a dream,’ only she said something so original
about it that I can’t repeat it. Besides, I’ve forgotten it. Well,
good-by! I am so worried I feel I shall go out of my mind. Ah! Alexey
Fyodorovitch, I’ve been out of my mind twice in my life. Go to Lise,
cheer her up, as you always can so charmingly. Lise,” she cried, going
to her door, “here I’ve brought you Alexey Fyodorovitch, whom you
insulted so. He is not at all angry, I assure you; on the contrary, he
is surprised that you could suppose so.”
“_Merci, maman._ Come in, Alexey Fyodorovitch.”
Alyosha went in. Lise looked rather embarrassed, and at once flushed
crimson. She was evidently ashamed of something, and, as people always
do in such cases, she began immediately talking of other things, as
though they were of absorbing interest to her at the moment.
“Mamma has just told me all about the two hundred roubles, Alexey
Fyodorovitch, and your taking them to that poor officer ... and she
told me all the awful story of how he had been insulted ... and you
know, although mamma muddles things ... she always rushes from one
thing to another ... I cried when I heard. Well, did you give him the
money and how is that poor man getting on?”
“The fact is I didn’t give it to him, and it’s a long story,” answered
Alyosha, as though he, too, could think of nothing but his regret at
having failed, yet Lise saw perfectly well that he, too, looked away,
and that he, too, was trying to talk of other things.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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