“Oh, Prince, you don't mean to say you can't tell us?” said Mrs. Antipova. “I suppose it's an extraordinary dream, isn't it?”
“A dead secret!” repeated the prince, purposely whetting the curiosity of the ladies, and enjoying the fun.
“Then it must be interesting, oh, dreadfully interesting,” cried other ladies.
“I don't mind taking a bet that the prince dreamed that he was kneeling at some lovely woman's feet and making a declaration of love,” said Felisata Michaelovna. “Confess, now, prince, that it was so? confess, dear prince, confess.”
“Yes, Prince, confess!” the chorus took up the cry. The old man listened solemnly until the last voice was hushed. The ladies' guesswork flattered his vanity wonderfully; he was as pleased as he could be. “Though I did say that my dream was a dead se—cret,” he replied at last, “still I am obliged to confess, dear lady, that to my great as—tonishment you have almost exactly guessed it.”
“I've guessed it, I've guessed it,” cried Felisata, in a rapture of joy. “Well, prince, say what you like, but it's your plain duty to tell us the name of your beauty; come now, isn't it?”
“Of course, of course, prince.”
“Is she in this town?”
“Dear prince, do tell us.”
“Darling prince, do, do tell us; you positively must,” was heard on all sides.