“Oh, no, it is not the point, not a bit. It makes no difference, my marrying her—it means nothing.”
“How ‘means nothing’? You are talking nonsense, my friend. You are marrying the woman you love in order to secure her happiness, and Aglaya sees and knows it. How can you say that it’s ‘not the point’?”
“Her happiness? Oh, no! I am only marrying her—well, because she wished it. It means nothing—it’s all the same. She would certainly have died. I see now that that marriage with Rogojin was an insane idea. I understand all now that I did not understand before; and, do you know, when those two stood opposite to one another, I could not bear Nastasia Philipovna’s face! You must know, Evgenie Pavlovitch, I have never told anyone before—not even Aglaya—that I cannot bear Nastasia Philipovna’s face.” (He lowered his voice mysteriously as he said this.) “You described that evening at Nastasia Philipovna’s (six months since) very accurately just now; but there is one thing which you did not mention, and of which you took no account, because you do not know. I mean her face—I looked at her face, you see. Even in the morning when I saw her portrait, I felt that I could not bear to look at it. Now, there’s Vera Lebedeff, for instance, her eyes are quite different, you know. I’m afraid of her face!” he added, with real alarm.
“You are afraid of it?”
“Yes—she’s mad!” he whispered, growing pale.
“Do you know this for certain?” asked Evgenie, with the greatest curiosity.
“Yes, for certain—quite for certain, now! I have discovered it absolutely for certain, these last few days.”
“What are you doing, then?” cried Evgenie, in horror. “You must be marrying her solely out of fear, then! I can’t make head or tail of it, prince. Perhaps you don’t even love her?”
“Oh, no; I love her with all my soul. Why, she is a child! She’s a child now—a real child. Oh! you know nothing about it at all, I see.”
“And are you assured, at the same time, that you love Aglaya too?”