“No!! That's difficult to believe! Well, and your whiskers, uncle! admit—you black them, now don't you?”
“Black them? Not—only I don't black them, but they, too, are ar—tificial!” said the Prince, regarding Mosgliakoff with a look of triumph.
“What! Artificial? No, no, uncle! I can't believe that! You're laughing at me!”
“Parole d'honneur, mon ami!” cried the delighted old man; “and fancy, all—everybody is taken in by them just as you were! Even Stepanida Matveyevna cannot believe they are not real, sometimes, although she often sticks them on herself! But, I am sure, my dear friend, you will keep my se—cret. Give me your word!”
“I do give you my word, uncle! But surely you do not suppose I would be so mean as to divulge it?”
“Oh, my boy! I had such a fall to-day, without you. The coachman upset me out of the carriage again!”
“How? When?”
“Why, we were driving to the mo—nastery, when?——”
“I know, uncle: that was early this morning!”
“No, no! A couple of hours ago, not more! I was driving along with him, and he suddenly took and up—set me!”