“I wrote, and I say to you once more, that she is not in her right mind,” said the prince, who had listened with anguish to what Rogojin said.

“Goodness knows⁠—you may be wrong there! At all events, she named the day this evening, as we left the gardens. ‘In three weeks,’ says she, ‘and perhaps sooner, we shall be married.’ She swore to it, took off her cross and kissed it. So it all depends upon you now, prince, You see! Ha, ha!”

“That’s all madness. What you say about me, Parfen, never can and never will be. Tomorrow, I shall come and see you⁠—”

“How can she be mad,” Rogojin interrupted, “when she is sane enough for other people and only mad for you? How can she write letters to her , if she’s mad? If she were insane they would observe it in her letters.”

“What letters?” said the prince, alarmed.