There were a few seconds of dead silence.
The prince tried to speak, but could not form his words; a great weight seemed to lie upon his breast and suffocate him.
“N-no! don’t marry him!” he whispered at last, drawing his breath with an effort.
“So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch,” she spoke solemnly and forcibly, “you hear the prince’s decision? Take it as my decision; and let that be the end of the matter for good and all.”
“Nastasia Philipovna!” cried Totski, in a quaking voice.
“Nastasia Philipovna!” said the general, in persuasive but agitated tones.
Everyone in the room fidgeted in their places, and waited to see what was coming next.
“Well, gentlemen!” she continued, gazing around in apparent astonishment; “what do you all look so alarmed about? Why are you so upset?”
“But—recollect, Nastasia Philipovna,” stammered Totski, “you gave a promise, quite a free one, and—and you might have spared us this. I am confused and bewildered, I know; but, in a word, at such a moment, and before company, and all so-so-irregular, finishing off a game with a serious matter like this, a matter of honour, and of heart, and—”
“I don’t follow you, Afanasy Ivanovitch; you are losing your head. In the first place, what do you mean by ‘before company’? Isn’t the company good enough for you? And what’s all that about ‘a game’? I wished to tell my little story, and I told it! Don’t you like it? You heard what I said to the prince? ‘As you decide, so it shall be!’ If he had said ‘yes,’ I should have given my consent! But he said ‘no,’ so I refused. Here was my whole life hanging on his one word! Surely I was serious enough?”