“Oh, you cruel little girl! How will you treat us all next, I wonder?” she said, but she spoke with a ring of joy in her voice, and as though she breathed at last without the oppression which she had felt so long.

“Cruel?” sobbed Aglaya. “Yes, I am cruel, and worthless, and spoiled⁠—tell father so⁠—oh, here he is⁠—I forgot Father, listen!” She laughed through her tears.

“My darling, my little idol,” cried the general, kissing and fondling her hands (Aglaya did not draw them away); “so you love this young man, do you?”

“No, no, no, can’t bear him, I can’t bear your young man!” cried Aglaya, raising her head. “And if you dare say that once more, papa⁠—I’m serious, you know, I’m⁠—do you hear me⁠—I’m serious!”