“Oh, yes—I know what count you’re going to see!” remarked his wife in a cutting manner, as she turned her angry eyes on the prince. “Now then, what’s all this about?—What abbot—Who’s Pafnute?” she added, brusquely. “Mamma!” said Alexandra, shocked at her rudeness. Aglaya stamped her foot. “Nonsense! Let me alone!” said the angry mother. “Now then, prince, sit down here, no, nearer, come nearer the light! I want to have a good look at you. So, now then, who is this abbot?” “Abbot Pafnute,” said our friend, seriously and with deference. “Pafnute, yes. And who was he?” Mrs. Epanchin put these questions hastily and brusquely, and when the prince answered she nodded her head sagely at each word he said. “The Abbot Pafnute lived in the fourteenth century,” began the prince; “he was in charge of one of the monasteries on the Volga, about where our present Kostroma government lies. He went to Oreol and helped in the great matters then going on in the religious world; he signed an edict there, and I have seen a print of his signature; it struck me, so I copied it. When the general asked me, in his study, to write something for him, to show my handwriting, I wrote ‘The Abbot Pafnute signed this,’ in the exact handwriting of the abbot. The general liked it very much, and that’s why he recalled it just now.” “Aglaya, make a note of ‘Pafnute,’ or we shall forget him. H’m! and where is this signature?” “I think it was left on the general’s table.” “Let it be sent for at once!” “Oh, I’ll write you a new one in half a minute,” said the prince, “if you like!” “Of course, mamma!” said Alexandra. “But let’s have lunch now, we are all hungry!” “Yes; come along, prince,” said the mother, “are you very hungry?” “Yes; I must say that I am pretty hungry, thanks very much.” “H’m! I like to see that you know your manners; and you are by no means such a person as the general thought fit to describe you. Come along; you sit here, opposite to me,” she continued, “I wish to be able to see your face. Alexandra, Adelaida, look after the prince! He doesn’t seem so very ill, does he? I don’t think he requires a napkin under his chin, after all; are you accustomed to having one on, prince?” “Formerly, when I was seven years old or so. I believe I wore one; but now I usually hold my napkin on my knee when I eat.” “Of course, of course! And about your fits?” “Fits?” asked the prince, slightly surprised. “I very seldom have fits nowadays. I don’t know how it may be here, though; they say the climate may be bad for me.” “He talks very well, you know!” said Mrs. Epanchin, who still continued to nod at each word the prince spoke. “I really did not expect it at all; in fact, I suppose it was all stuff and nonsense on the general’s part, as usual. Eat away, prince, and tell me where you were born, and where you were brought up. I wish to know all about you, you interest me very much!”