“No, Andréy, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have …”
“Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier,” said Prince Andréy. “You had better go.”
The princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered. Prince Andréy rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the room.
Pierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now at him and now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.
“Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?” exclaimed the little princess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful grimace. “I have long wanted to ask you, Andréy, why you have changed so to me? What have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no pity for me. Why is it?”
“Liza!” was all Prince Andréy said. But that one word expressed an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself regret her words. But she went on hurriedly:
“You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave like that six months ago?”
“Liza, I beg you to desist,” said Prince Andréy still more emphatically.
Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to all this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the sight of tears and was ready to cry himself.
“Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because … I assure you I myself have experienced … and so … because … No, excuse me! An outsider is out of place here … No, don’t distress yourself … Goodbye!”
Prince Andréy caught him by the hand.