Rozanof put his arms about his friend and wept. And Marya Gavrilovna gave him her hand—she was there at the time—and said:
“I admire you very much, Andrey Lvovitch, and I also want to be your friend.”
Then the prince was quite cheered up, and his face brightened. “Confess now,” said he, “if Rozanof hadn’t called me a fool that time in the Yar, you wouldn’t have fallen in love with him?”
She only smiled.
“That’s very probable,” said she.
Then, in another week, something else happened. Prince Andrey came in one day, dull and absent-minded. He spoke of one thing and another, but always as if he had some persistent idea in the background. The artist, who knew his character, asked what was the matter.
“Oh, nothing,” said the prince.
“Well, but all the same, what is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, I tell you. The stupid bank in which my money is....”
“Well?”