“Yes, but let’s have the story first!” cried the general.
“Prince,” said Nastasia Philipovna, unexpectedly turning to Muishkin, “here are my old friends, Totski and General Epanchin, who wish to marry me off. Tell me what you think. Shall I marry or not? As you decide, so shall it be.”
Totski grew white as a sheet. The general was struck dumb. All present started and listened intently. Gania sat rooted to his chair.
“Marry whom?” asked the prince, faintly.
“Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin,” said Nastasia, firmly and evenly.
There were a few seconds of dead silence.
The prince tried to speak, but could not form his words; a great weight seemed to lie upon his breast and suffocate him.
“N—no! don’t marry him!” he whispered at last, drawing his breath with an effort.
“So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch,” she spoke solemnly and forcibly, “you hear the prince’s decision? Take it as my decision; and let that be the end of the matter for good and all.”
“Nastasia Philipovna!” cried Totski, in a quaking voice.
“Nastasia Philipovna!” said the general, in persuasive but agitated tones.
Everyone in the room fidgeted in their places, and waited to see what was coming next.
“Well, gentlemen!” she continued, gazing around in apparent astonishment; “what do you all look so alarmed about? Why are you so upset?”