Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
“I confess I came here with an object. I wished to persuade Nastasia to
go abroad for her health; she requires it. Both mind and body need a
change badly. I did not intend to take her abroad myself. I was going
to arrange for her to go without me. Now I tell you honestly, Parfen,
if it is true that all is made up between you, I will not so much as
set eyes upon her, and I will never even come to see you again.
“You know quite well that I am telling the truth, because I have always
been frank with you. I have never concealed my own opinion from you. I
have always told you that I consider a marriage between you and her
would be ruin to her. You would also be ruined, and perhaps even more
hopelessly. If this marriage were to be broken off again, I admit I
should be greatly pleased; but at the same time I have not the
slightest intention of trying to part you. You may be quite easy in
your mind, and you need not suspect me. You know yourself whether I was
ever really your rival or not, even when she ran away and came to me.
“There, you are laughing at me—I know why you laugh. It is perfectly
true that we lived apart from one another all the time, in different
towns. I told you before that I did not love her with love, but with
pity! You said then that you understood me; did you really understand
me or not? What hatred there is in your eyes at this moment! I came to
relieve your mind, because you are dear to me also. I love you very
much, Parfen; and now I shall go away and never come back again.
Goodbye.”
The prince rose.
“Stay a little,” said Parfen, not leaving his chair and resting his
head on his right hand. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”
The prince sat down again. Both were silent for a few moments.
“When you are not with me I hate you, Lef Nicolaievitch. I have loathed
you every day of these three months since I last saw you. By heaven I
have!” said Rogojin. “I could have poisoned you at any minute. Now, you
have been with me but a quarter of an hour, and all my malice seems to
have melted away, and you are as dear to me as ever. Stay here a little
longer.”
“When I am with you you trust me; but as soon as my back is turned you
suspect me,” said the prince, smiling, and trying to hide his emotion.
“I trust your voice, when I hear you speak. I quite understand that you
and I cannot be put on a level, of course.”
“Why did you add that?—There! Now you are cross again,” said the
prince, wondering.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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