“I think only one of your rooms is engaged as yet, is it not? That fellow Ferd-Ferd—” “Ferdishenko.” “Yes—I don’t like that Ferdishenko. I can’t understand why Nastasia Philipovna encourages him so. Is he really her cousin, as he says?” “Oh dear no, it’s all a joke. No more cousin than I am.” “Well, what do you think of the arrangement, prince?” “Thank you, general; you have behaved very kindly to me; all the more so since I did not ask you to help me. I don’t say that out of pride. I certainly did not know where to lay my head tonight. Rogojin asked me to come to his house, of course, but—” “Rogojin? No, no, my good fellow. I should strongly recommend you, paternally,—or, if you prefer it, as a friend,—to forget all about Rogojin, and, in fact, to stick to the family into which you are about to enter.” “Thank you,” began the prince; “and since you are so very kind there is just one matter which I—” “You must really excuse me,” interrupted the general, “but I positively haven’t another moment now. I shall just tell Elizabetha Prokofievna about you, and if she wishes to receive you at once—as I shall advise her—I strongly recommend you to ingratiate yourself with her at the first opportunity, for my wife may be of the greatest service to you in many ways. If she cannot receive you now, you must be content to wait till another time. Meanwhile you, Gania, just look over these accounts, will you? We mustn’t forget to finish off that matter—” The general left the room, and the prince never succeeded in broaching the business which he had on hand, though he had endeavoured to do so four times. Gania lit a cigarette and offered one to the prince. The latter accepted the offer, but did not talk, being unwilling to disturb Gania’s work. He commenced to examine the study and its contents. But Gania hardly so much as glanced at the papers lying before him; he was absent and thoughtful, and his smile and general appearance struck the prince still more disagreeably now that the two were left alone together. Suddenly Gania approached our hero who was at the moment standing over Nastasia Philipovna’s portrait, gazing at it. “Do you admire that sort of woman, prince?” he asked, looking intently at him. He seemed to have some special object in the question. “It’s a wonderful face,” said the prince, “and I feel sure that her destiny is not by any means an ordinary, uneventful one. Her face is smiling enough, but she must have suffered terribly—hasn’t she? Her eyes show it—those two bones there, the little points under her eyes, just where the cheek begins. It’s a proud face too, terribly proud! And I—I can’t say whether she is good and kind, or not. Oh, if she be but good! That would make all well!” “And would you marry a woman like that, now?” continued Gania, never taking his excited eyes off the prince’s face. “I cannot marry at all,” said the latter. “I am an invalid.” “Would Rogojin marry her, do you think?”