“Quite true,” whispered the prince.
“You’ll take me as I am, with nothing?”
“I will, Nastasia Philipovna.”
“Here’s a pretty business!” cried the general. “However, it might have been expected of him.”
The prince continued to regard Nastasia with a sorrowful, but intent and piercing, gaze.
“Here’s another alternative for me,” said Nastasia, turning once more to the actress; “and he does it out of pure kindness of heart. I know him. I’ve found a benefactor. Perhaps, though, what they say about him may be true—that he’s an—we know what. And what shall you live on, if you are really so madly in love with Rogojin’s mistress, that you are ready to marry her—eh?”
“I take you as a good, honest woman, Nastasia Philipovna—not as Rogojin’s mistress.”
“Who? I?—good and honest?”
“Yes, you.”
“Oh, you get those ideas out of novels, you know. Times are changed now, dear prince; the world sees things as they really are. That’s all nonsense. Besides, how can you marry? You need a nurse, not a wife.”
The prince rose and began to speak in a trembling, timid tone, but with the air of a man absolutely sure of the truth of his words.
“I know nothing, Nastasia Philipovna. I have seen nothing. You are right so far; but I consider that you would be honouring me, and not I you. I