“I don’t know—perhaps you are right in much that you have said, Evgenie Pavlovitch. You are very wise, Evgenie Pavlovitch—oh! how my head is beginning to ache again! Come to her, quick—for God’s sake, come!”
“But I tell you she is not in Pavlofsk! She’s in Colmina.”
“Oh, come to Colmina, then! Come—let us go at once!”
“No—no, impossible!” said Evgenie, rising.
“Look here—I’ll write a letter—take a letter for me!”
“No—no, prince; you must forgive me, but I can’t undertake any such commissions! I really can’t.”
And so they parted.
Evgenie Pavlovitch left the house with strange convictions. He, too, felt that the prince must be out of his mind.
“And what did he mean by that face —a face which he so fears, and yet so loves? And meanwhile he really may die, as he says, without seeing Aglaya, and she will never know how devotedly he loves her! Ha, ha, ha! How does the fellow manage to love two of them? Two different kinds of love, I suppose! This is very interesting—poor idiot! What on earth will become of him now?”