very hard, but he also knew that he could not help tormenting her and that she deserved it. “Why does Prince Andréy, who sees this, say nothing to me about his sister? Does he think me a scoundrel, or an old fool who, without any reason, keeps his own daughter at a distance and attaches this Frenchwoman to himself? He doesn’t understand, so I must explain it, and he must hear me out,” thought the old prince. And he began explaining why he could not put up with his daughter’s unreasonable character.
“If you ask me,” said Prince Andréy, without looking up (he was censuring his father for the first time in his life), “I did not wish to speak about it, but as you ask me I will give you my frank opinion. If there is any misunderstanding and discord between you and Másha, I can’t blame her for it at all. I know how she loves and respects you. Since you ask me,” continued Prince Andréy, becoming irritable—as he was always liable to do of late—“I can only say that if there are any misunderstandings they are caused by that worthless woman, who is not fit to be my sister’s companion.”