“Oh, you must forgive him the blank wall,” said the prince, quietly. “He has come down to see a few trees now, poor fellow.”
“Oh, I forgive him with all my heart; you may tell him so if you like,” laughed Evgenie.
“I don’t think you should take it quite like that,” said the prince, quietly, and without removing his eyes from the carpet. “I think it is more a case of his forgiving you.”
“Forgiving me! why so? What have I done to need his forgiveness?”
“If you don’t understand, then—but of course, you do understand. He wished—he wished to bless you all round and to have your blessing—before he died—that’s all.”
“My dear prince,” began Prince S⸺, hurriedly, exchanging glances with some of those present, “you will not easily find heaven on earth, and yet you seem to expect to. Heaven is a difficult thing to find anywhere, prince; far more difficult than appears to that good heart of yours. Better stop this conversation, or we shall all be growing quite disturbed in our minds, and—”
“Let’s go and hear the band, then,” said Lizabetha Prokofievna, angrily rising from her place.
The rest of the company followed her example.