“General, they say you require rest,” said Nastasia Philipovna, with the melancholy face of a child whose toy is taken away.
Ardalion Alexandrovitch immediately did his best to make his foolish position a great deal worse.
“My dear, my dear!” he said, solemnly and reproachfully, looking at his wife, with one hand on his heart.
“Won’t you leave the room, mamma?” asked Varia, aloud.
“No, Varia, I shall sit it out to the end.”
Nastasia must have overheard both question and reply, but her vivacity was not in the least damped. On the contrary, it seemed to increase. She immediately overwhelmed the general once more with questions, and within five minutes that gentleman was as happy as a king, and holding forth at the top of his voice, amid the laughter of almost all who heard him.
Colia jogged the prince’s arm.
“Can’t you get him out of the room, somehow? Do, please,” and tears of annoyance stood in the boy’s eyes. “Curse that Gania!” he muttered, between his teeth.
“Oh yes, I knew General Epanchin well,” General Ivolgin was saying at this moment; “he and Prince Nicolai Ivanovitch Muishkin—whose son I have this day embraced after an absence of twenty years—and I, were three inseparables. Alas one is in the grave, torn to pieces by calumnies and bullets; another is now before you, still battling with calumnies and bullets—”
“Bullets?” cried Nastasia.