“I’m not angry, I’m not angry, darling! I know you are much agitated!” cried Maria Alexandrovna. “You say, my child, that you wish me to be candid: very well, I will; I will be _quite_ frank, I assure you. But you might have trusted me! Firstly, then, I must tell you that I have no actually organized plan yet—no _detailed_ plan, that is. You must understand, with that clever little head of yours, you must see, Zina, that I _cannot_ have such a plan, all cut out. I even anticipate some difficulties. Why, that magpie of a woman has just been telling me all sorts of things. We ought to be quick, by the bye; you see, I am quite open with you! But I swear to you that the end shall be attained!” she added, ecstatically. “My convictions are not the result of a poetical nature, as you told me just now; they are founded on facts. I rely on the weakness of the prince’s intellect—which is a canvas upon which one can stitch any pattern one pleases! “The only fear is, we may be interfered with! But a fool of a woman like that is not going to get the better of _me_!” she added, stamping her foot, and with flashing eyes. “That’s my part of the business, though; and to manage it thoroughly I must begin as soon as possible—in fact, the whole thing, or the most important part of it, must be arranged this very day!” “Very well, mamma; but now listen to one more piece of candour. Do you know why I am so interested in your plan of operations, and do not trust it? because I am not sure of myself! I have told you already that I consent to this——meanness; but I must warn you that if I find the details of your plan of operations _too_ dirty, too mean and repulsive, I shall not be able to stand it, and shall assuredly throw you over. I know that this is a new pettiness, to consent to a wicked thing and then fear the dirt in which it floats! But what’s to be done? So it will be, and I warn you!” “But Zina, dear child, where is the wickedness in this?” asked Maria Alexandrovna timidly. “It is simply a matter of a marriage for profit; everybody does it! Look at it in this light, and you will see there is nothing particular in it; it is good ‘form’ enough!” “Oh, mamma, don’t try to play the fox over me! Don’t you see that I have consented to everything—to _everything_? What else do you require of me? Don’t be alarmed if I call things by their proper names! For all you know it may be my only comfort!” And a bitter smile played over her lips.