“No, mamma, no!” cried Zina, with a quiver of rage in her voice, “I do not wish to remain silent any longer before these—persons, whose opinion I despise, and who have come here for the purpose of laughing at us. I do not wish to stand insult from any one of them; none of them have any right to throw dirt at me; every single one of them would be ready at any moment to do things thirty times as bad as anything either I or you have done or would do! Dare they, _can_ they constitute themselves our judges?” “Listen to that!” “There’s a pretty little speech for you!” “Why, that’s _us_ she’s abusing”! “A nice sort of creature she is herself!” These and other such-like exclamations greeted the conclusion of Zina’s speech. “Oh, she simply doesn’t know what she’s talking about!” observed Natalia Dimitrievna. We will make a digression, and remark that Natalia Dimitrievna was quite right there! For if Zina did not consider these women competent to judge herself, why should she trouble herself to make those exposures and admissions which she proposed to reveal in their presence? Zina was in much too great a hurry. (She always was,—so the best heads in Mordasoff had agreed!) All might have been set right; all might have been satisfactorily arranged! Maria Alexandrovna was a great deal to blame this night, too! She had been too much “in a hurry,” like her daughter,—and too arrogant! She should have simply raised the laugh at the old prince’s expense, and turned him out of the house! But Zina, in despite of all common sense (as indicated above), and of the sage opinions of all Mordasoff, addressed herself to the prince: “Prince,” she said to the old man, who actually rose from his arm-chair to show his respect for the speaker, so much was he struck by her at this moment!—“Prince forgive us; we have deceived you; we entrapped you——” “_Will_ you be quiet, you wretched girl?” cried Maria Alexandrovna, wild with rage. “My dear young lady—my dear child, my darling child!” murmured the admiring prince. But the proud haughty character of Zina had led her on to cross the barrier of all propriety;—she even forgot her own mother who lay fainting at her feet—a victim to the self-exposure her daughter indulged in.