“Oh, well, when I saw her she almost punched my head, as I say; in fact so nearly that one might almost say she did punch my head. She threw the letter in my face; she seemed to reflect first, as if she would have liked to keep it, but thought better of it and threw it in my face instead. ‘If anybody can have been such a fool as to trust a man like you to deliver the letter,’ says she, ‘take it and deliver it!’ Hey! she was grandly indignant. A fierce, fiery lady that, sir!”
“Where’s the letter now?”
“Oh, I’ve still got it, here!”
And he handed the prince the very letter from Aglaya to Gania, which the latter showed with so much triumph to his sister at a later hour.
“This letter cannot be allowed to remain in your hands.”
“It’s for you—for you! I’ve brought it you on purpose!” cried Lebedeff, excitedly. “Why, I’m yours again now, heart and hand, your slave; there was but a momentary pause in the flow of my love and esteem for you. Mea culpa, mea culpa! as the Pope of Rome says.”
“This letter should be sent on at once,” said the prince, disturbed. “I’ll hand it over myself.”
“Wouldn’t it be better, esteemed prince, wouldn’t it be better—to—don’t you know—”
Lebedeff made a strange and very expressive grimace; he twisted about in his chair, and did something, apparently symbolical, with his hands.
“What do you mean?” said the prince.
“Why, open it, for the time being, don’t you know?” he said, most confidentially and mysteriously.