“Be quiet! How dare they laugh at me in your house?” said Aglaya, turning sharply on her mother in that hysterical frame of mind that rides recklessly over every obstacle and plunges blindly through proprieties. “Why does everyone, everyone worry and torment me? Why have they all been bullying me these three days about you, prince? I will not marry you—never, and under no circumstances! Know that once and for all; as if anyone could marry an absurd creature like you! Just look in the glass and see what you look like, this very moment! Why, _why_ do they torment me and say I am going to marry you? You must know it; you are in the plot with them!” “No one ever tormented you on the subject,” murmured Adelaida, aghast. “No one ever thought of such a thing! There has never been a word said about it!” cried Alexandra. “Who has been annoying her? Who has been tormenting the child? Who could have said such a thing to her? Is she raving?” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, trembling with rage, to the company in general. “Every one of them has been saying it—every one of them—all these three days! And I will never, never marry him!” So saying, Aglaya burst into bitter tears, and, hiding her face in her handkerchief, sank back into a chair. “But he has never even—” “I have never asked you to marry me, Aglaya Ivanovna!” said the prince, of a sudden. “_What?_” cried Mrs. Epanchin, raising her hands in horror. “_What’s_ that?” She could not believe her ears. “I meant to say—I only meant to say,” said the prince, faltering, “I merely meant to explain to Aglaya Ivanovna—to have the honour to explain, as it were—that I had no intention—never had—to ask the honour of her hand. I assure you I am not guilty, Aglaya Ivanovna, I am not, indeed. I never did wish to—I never thought of it at all—and never shall—you’ll see it yourself—you may be quite assured of it. Some wicked person has been maligning me to you; but it’s all right. Don’t worry about it.” So saying, the prince approached Aglaya. She took the handkerchief from her face, glanced keenly at him, took in what he had said, and burst out laughing—such a merry, unrestrained laugh, so hearty and gay, that Adelaida could not contain herself. She, too, glanced at the prince’s panic-stricken countenance, then rushed at her sister, threw her arms round her neck, and burst into as merry a fit of laughter as Aglaya’s own. They laughed together like a couple of school-girls. Hearing and seeing this, the prince smiled happily, and in accents of relief and joy, he exclaimed “Well, thank God—thank God!” Alexandra now joined in, and it looked as though the three sisters were going to laugh on for ever. “They are insane,” muttered Lizabetha Prokofievna. “Either they frighten one out of one’s wits, or else—” But Prince S. was laughing now, too, so was Evgenie Pavlovitch, so was Colia, and so was the prince himself, who caught the infection as he looked round radiantly upon the others.