The princess， with her spare， upright figure， so disproportionately long in the body， looked straight at the prince with no sign of emotion in her prominent grey eyes. She shook her head， and sighing looked towards the holy pictures. Her gesture might have been interpreted as an expression of grief and devotion， or as an expression of weariness and the hope of a speedy release. Prince Vassily took it as an expression of weariness.
“And do you suppose it’s any easier for me？” he said. “I am as worn out as a post horse. I must have a little talk with you， Katish， and a very serious one.”
Prince Vassily paused. and his cheeks began twitching nervously， first on one side， then on the other， giving his face an unpleasant expression such as was never seen on his countenance when he was in drawing-rooms. His eyes， too， were different from usual： at one moment they stared with a sort of insolent jocoseness， at the next they looked round furtively.
The princess， pulling her dog on her lap with her thin， dry hands， gazed intently at the eyes of Prince Vassily， but it was evident that she would not break the silence， if she had to sit silent till morning.
“You see， my dear princess and cousin， Katerina Semyonovna，” pursued Prince Vassily， obviously with some inner conflict bracing himself to go on with what he wanted to say， “at such moments as the present， one has to think of everything. One must think of the future， of you … I care for all of you as if you were my own children； you know that.”
The princess looked at him with the same dull immovable gaze.
“Finally， we have to think of my family too，” continued Prince Vassily， angrily pushing away a little table and not looking at her： “you know， Katish， that you three Mamontov sisters and my wife，—we are the only direct heirs of the count. I know， I know how painful it is for you to speak and think of such things. And it’s as hard for me； but， my dear， I am a man over fifty， I must be ready for anything. Do you know that I have sent for Pierre， and that the count， pointing straight at his portrait， has asked for him？”
Prince Vassily looked inquiringly at the princess， but he could not make out whether she was considering what he had said， or was simply staring at him.
“I pray to God for one thing only continually， mon cousin，” she replied， “that He may have mercy upon him， and allow his noble soul to leave this …”
“Yes， quite so，” Prince Vassily continued impatiently， rubbing his bald head and again wrathfully moving the table towards him that he had just moved away， “but in fact … in fact the point is， as you are yourself aware， that last winter the count made a will by which， passing over his direct heirs and us， he bequeathed all his property to Pierre.”
“He may have made ever so many wills！” the princess said placidly； “but he can’t leave it to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.”
“Ma chère，” said Prince Vassily suddenly， pushing the table against him， growing more earnest and beginning to speak more rapidly： “but what if a letter has been written to the Emperor， and the count has petitioned him to legitimise Pierre？ You understand， that the count’s services would make his petition carry weight …”
The princess smiled， as people smile who believe that they know much more about the subject than those with whom they are talking.
“I can say more，” Prince Vassily went on， clasping her hand； “that letter has been written， though it has not been sent off， and the Emperor has heard about it. The question only is whether it has been destroyed or not. If not， as soon as all is over，” Prince Vassily sighed， giving her thereby to understand what he meant precisely by the words “all is over，” “and they open the count’s papers， the will with the letter will be given to the Emperor， and his petition will certainly be granted. Pierre， as the legitimate son， will receive everything.”
“What about our share？” the princess inquired， smiling ironically as though anything but that might happen.
“Why， my poor Katish， it is as clear as daylight. He will then be the only legal heir of all， and you won’t receive as much as this， see. You ought to know， my dear， whether the will and the petition were written， and whether they have been destroyed， and if they have somehow been overlooked， then you ought to know where they are and to find them， because …”
“That would be rather too much！” the princess interrupted him， smiling sardonically， with no change in the expression of her eyes. “I am a woman， and you think we are all silly； but I do know so much， that an illegitimate son can’t inherit … Un batard，” she added， supposing that by this translation of the word she was conclusively proving to the prince the groundlessness of his contention.