“Whom did you tell about it?”
“The man-servant, while I was waiting to see the general.”
“Our man-servant?” exclaimed several voices at once.
“Yes, the one who waits in the entrance hall, a greyish, red-faced man—”
“The prince is clearly a democrat,” remarked Aglaya.
“Well, if you could tell Aleksey about it, surely you can tell us too.”
“I do so want to hear about it,” repeated Adelaida.
“Just now, I confess,” began the prince, with more animation, “when you asked me for a subject for a picture, I confess I had serious thoughts of giving you one. I thought of asking you to draw the face of a criminal, one minute before the fall of the guillotine, while the wretched man is still standing on the scaffold, preparatory to placing his neck on the block.”
“What, his face? only his face?” asked Adelaida. “That would be a strange subject indeed. And what sort of a picture would that make?”
“Oh, why not?” the prince insisted, with some warmth. “When I was in Basle I saw a picture very much in that style—I should like to tell you about it; I will some time or other; it struck me very forcibly.”