whipped, sir! A plague upon you! And so, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, you will call on them tomorrow, will you?” she asked the prince breathlessly, for the second time.
“Yes.”
“Then I will never speak to you again.” She made a sudden movement to go, and then turned quickly back. “And you will call on that atheist?” she continued, pointing to Hippolyte. “How dare you grin at me like that?” she shouted furiously, rushing at the invalid, whose mocking smile drove her to distraction.
Exclamations arose on all sides.
“Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna!”
“Mother, this is disgraceful!” cried Aglaya.
Mrs. Epanchin had approached Hippolyte and seized him firmly by the arm, while her eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his face.
“Do not distress yourself, Aglaya Ivanovitch,” he answered calmly; “your mother knows that