This gentleman now approached the prince slowly, and with a most courteous smile; silently took his hand and held it in his own, as he examined the prince’s features as though searching for familiar traits therein. “‘Tis he, ‘tis he!” he said at last, quietly, but with much solemnity. “As though he were alive once more. I heard the familiar name—the dear familiar name—and, oh! how it reminded me of the irrevocable past—Prince Muishkin, I believe?” “Exactly so.” “General Ivolgin—retired and unfortunate. May I ask your Christian and generic names?” “Lef Nicolaievitch.” “So, so—the son of my old, I may say my childhood’s friend, Nicolai Petrovitch.” “My father’s name was Nicolai Lvovitch.” “Lvovitch,” repeated the general without the slightest haste, and with perfect confidence, just as though he had not committed himself the least in the world, but merely made a little slip of the tongue. He sat down, and taking the prince’s hand, drew him to a seat next to himself. “I carried you in my arms as a baby,” he observed. “Really?” asked the prince. “Why, it’s twenty years since my father died.” “Yes, yes—twenty years and three months. We were educated together; I went straight into the army, and he—” “My father went into the army, too. He was a sub-lieutenant in the Vasiliefsky regiment.” “No, sir—in the Bielomirsky; he changed into the latter shortly before his death. I was at his bedside when he died, and gave him my blessing for eternity. Your mother—” The general paused, as though overcome with emotion. “She died a few months later, from a cold,” said the prince. “Oh, not cold—believe an old man—not from a cold, but from grief for her prince. Oh—your mother, your mother! heigh-ho! Youth—youth! Your father and I—old friends as we were—nearly murdered each other for her sake.” The prince began to be a little incredulous. “I was passionately in love with her when she was engaged—engaged to my friend. The prince noticed the fact and was furious. He came and woke me at seven o’clock one morning. I rise and dress in amazement; silence on both sides. I understand it all. He takes a couple of pistols out of his pocket—across a handkerchief—without witnesses. Why invite witnesses when both of us would be walking in eternity in a couple of minutes? The pistols are loaded; we stretch the handkerchief and stand opposite one another. We aim the pistols at each other’s hearts. Suddenly tears start to our eyes, our hands shake; we weep, we embrace—the battle is one of self-sacrifice now! The prince shouts, ‘She is yours;’ I cry, ‘She is yours—’ in a word, in a word—You’ve come to live with us, hey?” “Yes—yes—for a while, I think,” stammered the prince. “Prince, mother begs you to come to her,” said Colia, appearing at the door. The prince rose to go, but the general once more laid his hand in a friendly manner on his shoulder, and dragged him down on to the sofa.