“Very happy, very happy—Afanassy Mat—veyevitch!” said the prince. “Wait a moment: your name reminds me of something, Afanassy Mat—veyevitch; ye—yes, you are the man down at the village! Charming, charm—ing! Very glad, I’m sure. Do you remember, my boy,” (to Paul) “the nice little rhyme we fitted out to him? What was it?” “Oh, I know, prince,” said Felisata Michaelovna— “ ‘When the husband’s away The wife will play!” “Wasn’t that it? We had it last year at the theatre.” “Yes, yes, quite so, ye—yes, ‘the wife will play!’ That’s it: charming, charming. So you are that ve—ry man? Dear me, I’m _very_ glad, I’m sure,” said the prince, stretching out his hand, but not rising from his chair. “Dear me, and how is your health, my dear sir?” “H’m!” “Oh, he’s quite well, thank you, prince, _quite_ well,” answered Maria Alexandrovna quickly. “Ye—yes, I see he is—he looks it! And are you still at the vill—age? Dear me, very pleased, I’m sure; why, how red he looks, and he’s always laugh—ing.” Afanassy smiled and bowed, and even “scraped,” as the prince spoke, but at the last observation he suddenly, and without warning or apparent reason, burst into loud fits of laughter. The ladies were delighted. Zina flushed up, and with flashing eyes darted a look at her mother, who, in her turn, was boiling over with rage. It was time to change the conversation. “Did you have a nice nap, prince?” she inquired in honied accents; but at the same time giving Afanassy to understand, with very un-honied looks that he might go—well, anywhere! “Oh, I slept won—derfully, wonderfully? And do you know, I had such a most fascinating, be—witching dream!” “A dream? how delightful! I do so love to hear people tell their dreams,” cried Felisata. “Oh, a fas—cinating dream,” stammered the old man again, “quite be—witching, but all the more a dead secret for that very reas—on.” “Oh, Prince, you don’t mean to say you can’t tell us?” said Mrs. Antipova. “I suppose it’s an _extraordinary_ dream, isn’t it?” “A dead secret!” repeated the prince, purposely whetting the curiosity of the ladies, and enjoying the fun. “Then it _must_ be interesting, oh, _dreadfully_ interesting,” cried other ladies. “I don’t mind taking a bet that the prince dreamed that he was kneeling at some lovely woman’s feet and making a declaration of love,” said Felisata Michaelovna. “Confess, now, prince, that it was so? confess, dear prince, confess.” “Yes, Prince, confess!” the chorus took up the cry. The old man listened solemnly until the last voice was hushed. The ladies’ guesswork flattered his vanity wonderfully; he was as pleased as he could be. “Though I did say that my dream was a dead se—cret,” he replied at last, “still I am obliged to confess, dear lady, that to my great as—tonishment you have almost exactly guessed it.”