‘Darya Mihailovna is an egoist to begin with, and lives for herself; and then she is so convinced of her own skill in educating her children that it does not even enter her head to feel uneasy about them. Nonsense! how is it possible: she has but to give one nod, one majestic glance—and all is over, all is obedience again. That’s what that lady imagines; she fancies herself a female Maecenas, a learned woman, and God knows what, but in fact she is nothing more than a silly, worldly old woman. But Natalya is not a baby; believe me, she thinks more, and more profoundly too, than you and I do. And that her true, passionate, ardent nature must fall in with an actor, a flirt like this! But of course that’s in the natural order of things.’
‘A flirt! Do you mean that he is a flirt?’
‘Of course he is. And tell me yourself, Alexandra Pavlovna, what is his position in Darya Mihailovna’s house? To be the idol, the oracle of the household, to meddle in the arrangements, all the gossip and petty trifles of the house—is that a dignified position for a man to be in?’
Alexandra Pavlovna looked at Lezhnyov in surprise.
‘I don’t know you, Mihailo Mihailitch,’ she began to say. ‘You are flushed and excited. I believe there must be something else hidden under this.’
‘Oh, so that’s it! Tell a woman the truth from conviction, and she will never rest easy till she has invented some petty outside cause quite beside the point which has made you speak in precisely that manner and no other.’
Alexandra Pavlovna began to get angry.
‘Bravo, Monsieur Lezhnyov! You begin to be as bitter against women as Mr. Pigasov; but you may say what you like, penetrating as you are, it’s hard for me to believe that you understand every one and everything. I think you are mistaken. According to your ideas, Rudin is a kind of Tartuffe.’
‘No, the point is, that he is not even a Tartuffe. Tartuffe at least knew what he was aiming at; but this fellow, for all his cleverness——’
‘Well, well, what of him? Finish your sentence, you unjust, horrid man!’