“I don’t know, I don’t know who said it. Come home at once; come on! I’ll punch Gania’s head myself, if you like—only come. Oh, where are you off to again?” The general was dragging him away towards the door of a house nearby. He sat down on the step, still holding Colia by the hand.
“Bend down—bend down your ear. I’ll tell you all—disgrace—bend down, I’ll tell you in your ear.”
“What are you dreaming of?” said poor, frightened Colia, stooping down towards the old man, all the same.
“Le roi de Rome,” whispered the general, trembling all over.
“What? What do you mean? What roi de Rome?”
“I—I,” the general continued to whisper, clinging more and more tightly to the boy’s shoulder. “I—wish—to tell you—all—Maria—Maria Petrovna—Su—Su—Su.......”
Colia broke loose, seized his father by the shoulders, and stared into his eyes with frenzied gaze. The old man had grown livid—his lips were shaking, convulsions were passing over his features. Suddenly he leant over and began to sink slowly into Colia’s arms.
“He’s got a stroke!” cried Colia, loudly, realizing what was the matter at last.
V.
In point of fact, Varia had rather exaggerated the certainty of her news as to the prince’s betrothal to Aglaya. Very likely, with the perspicacity of her sex, she gave out as an accomplished fact what she felt was pretty sure to become a fact in a few days. Perhaps she could not resist the satisfaction of pouring one last drop of bitterness into her brother Gania’s cup, in spite of her love for him. At all events, she had been unable to obtain any definite news from the Epanchin girls—the most she could get out of them being hints and surmises, and so on. Perhaps Aglaya’s sisters had merely been pumping Varia for news while pretending to impart information; or perhaps, again, they had been unable to resist the feminine gratification of teasing a friend—for, after all this time, they could scarcely have helped divining the aim of her frequent visits.