“I asked Nicolai Ardalionovitch...”
“The urchin! the urchin!” interrupted Lizabetha Prokofievna in an angry voice. “I do not want to know if it were Nicolai Ardalionovitch! The urchin!”
“Nicolai Ardalionovitch...”
“The urchin, I tell you!”
“No, it was not the urchin: it was Nicolai Ardalionovitch,” said the prince very firmly, but without raising his voice.
“Well, all right! All right, my dear! I shall put that down to your account.”
She was silent a moment to get breath, and to recover her composure.
“Well!—and what’s the meaning of the ‘poor knight,’ eh?”
“I don’t know in the least; I wasn’t present when the joke was made. It is a joke. I suppose, and that’s all.”
“Well, that’s a comfort, at all events. You don’t suppose she could take any interest in you, do you? Why, she called you an ‘idiot’ herself.”