What was this universe? What was this grand, eternal pageant to which he had yearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never take part? Every morning the same magnificent sun; every morning the same rainbow in the waterfall; every evening the same glow on the snow-mountains.
Every little fly that buzzed in the sun's rays was a singer in the universal chorus, "knew its place, and was happy in it.
"Every blade of grass grew and was happy. Everything knew its path and loved it, went forth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing, understood nothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature's voices; he was a stranger and an outcast.
Oh, he could not then speak these words, or express all he felt!
He had been tormented dumbly; but now it appeared to him that he must have said these very words--even then--and that Hippolyte must have taken his picture of the little fly from his tears and words of that time.
He was sure of it, and his heart beat excitedly at the thought, he knew not why.
He fell asleep on the bench; but his mental disquiet continued through his slumbers.
Just before he dozed off, the idea of Hippolyte murdering ten men flitted through his brain, and he smiled at the absurdity of such a thought.
Around him all was quiet; only the flutter and whisper of the leaves broke the silence, but broke it only to cause it to appear yet more deep and still.
He dreamed many dreams as he sat there, and all were full of disquiet, so that he shuddered every moment.
At length a woman seemed to approach him. He knew her, oh! he knew her only too well. He could always name her and recognize her anywhere; but, strange, she seemed to have quite a different face from hers, as he had known it, and he felt a tormenting desire to be able to say she was not the same woman. In the face before him there was such dreadful remorse and horror that he thought she must be a criminal, that she must have just committed some awful crime.
Tears were trembling on her white cheek. She beckoned him, but placed her finger on her lip as though to warn him that he must follow her very quietly. His heart froze within him. He wouldn't, he COULDN'T confess her to be a criminal, and yet he felt that something dreadful would happen the next moment, something which would blast his whole life.
She seemed to wish to show him something, not far off, in the park.
He rose from his seat in order to follow her, when a bright, clear peal of laughter rang out by his side. He felt somebody's hand suddenly in his own, seized it, pressed it hard, and awoke.
Before him stood Aglaya, laughing aloud.
VIII.
SHE laughed, but she was rather angry too.
"He's asleep! You were asleep," she said, with contemptuous surprise.
"Is it really you?" muttered the prince, not quite himself as yet, and recognizing her with a start of amazement. "Oh yes, of course," he added, "this is our rendezvous. I fell asleep here.""So I saw."
"Did no one awake me besides yourself? Was there no one else here? I thought there was another woman.""There was another woman here?"
At last he was wide awake.
"It was a dream, of course," he said, musingly. "Strange that Ishould have a dream like that at such a moment. Sit down--"He took her hand and seated her on the bench; then sat down beside her and reflected.
Aglaya did not begin the conversation, but contented herself with watching her companion intently.
He looked back at her, but at times it was clear that he did not see her and was not thinking of her.
Aglaya began to flush up.
"Oh yes!" cried the prince, starting. "Hippolyte's suicide--""What? At your house?" she asked, but without much surprise. "He was alive yesterday evening, wasn't he? How could you sleep here after that?" she cried, growing suddenly animated.
"Oh, but he didn't kill himself; the pistol didn't go off."Aglaya insisted on hearing the whole story. She hurried the prince along, but interrupted him with all sorts of questions, nearly all of which were irrelevant. Among other things, she seemed greatly interested in every word that Evgenie Pavlovitch had said, and made the prince repeat that part of the story over and over again.
"Well, that'll do; we must be quick," she concluded, after hearing all. "We have only an hour here, till eight; I must be home by then without fail, so that they may not find out that Icame and sat here with you; but I've come on business. I have a great deal to say to you. But you have bowled me over considerably with your news. As to Hippolyte, I think his pistol was bound not to go off; it was more consistent with the whole affair. Are you sure he really wished to blow his brains out, and that there was no humbug about the matter?""No humbug at all."
"Very likely. So he wrote that you were to bring me a copy of his confession, did he? Why didn't you bring it?""Why, he didn't die! I'll ask him for it, if you like.""Bring it by all means; you needn't ask him. He will be delighted, you may be sure; for, in all probability, he shot at himself simply in order that I might read his confession. Don't laugh at what I say, please, Lef Nicolaievitch, because it may very well be the case.""I'm not laughing. I am convinced, myself, that that may have been partly the reason.
"You are convinced? You don't really mean to say you think that honestly?" asked Aglaya, extremely surprised.
She put her questions very quickly and talked fast, every now and then forgetting what she had begun to say, and not finishing her sentence. She seemed to be impatient to warn the prince about something or other. She was in a state of unusual excitement, and though she put on a brave and even defiant air, she seemed to be rather alarmed. She was dressed very simply, but this suited her well. She continually trembled and blushed, and she sat on the very edge of the seat.
The fact that the prince confirmed her idea, about Hippolyte shooting himself that she might read his confession, surprised her greatly.
"Of course," added the prince, "he wished us all to applaud his conduct--besides yourself.""How do you mean--applaud?"