long. Prince Vasíli understood it as an expression of weariness.
“And I?” he said; “do you think it is easier for me? I am as worn out as a post horse, but still I must have a talk with you, Kátish, a very serious talk.”
Prince Vasíli said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room. His eyes too seemed strange; at one moment they looked impudently sly and at the next glanced round in alarm.
The princess, holding her little dog on her lap with her thin bony hands, looked attentively into Prince Vasíli’s eyes evidently resolved not to be the first to break silence, if she had to wait till morning.
“Well, you see, my dear princess and cousin, Katerína Semënovna,” continued Prince Vasíli, returning to his theme, apparently not without an inner struggle; “at such a moment as this one must think of everything. One must think of the future, of all of you … I love you all, like children of my own, as you know.”
The princess continued to look at him without moving, and with the same dull expression.
“And then of course my family has also to be considered,” Prince Vasíli went on, testily pushing away a little table without looking at her. “You know, Kátish, that we—you three sisters Mámontov, and my wife—are the count’s only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard it is for you to talk or think of such matters. It is no easier for me; but, my dear, I