ch
responded, with a weary smile. 'I begin to think Bazarov was right in
accusing me of snobbishness. No dear brother, don't let us worry
ourselves about appearances and the world's opinion any more; we are
old folks and humble now; it's time we laid aside vanity of all kinds.
Let us, just as you say, do our duty; and mind, we shall get happiness
that way into the bargain.'

Nikolai Petrovitch rushed to embrace his brother.

'You have opened my eyes completely!' he cried. 'I was right in always
declaring you the wisest and kindest-hearted fellow in the world, and
now I see you are just as reasonable as you are noble-hearted.'

'Quietly, quietly,' Pavel Petrovitch interrupted him; 'don't hurt the
leg of your reasonable brother, who at close upon fifty has been
fighting a duel like an ensign. So, then, it's a settled matter;
Fenitchka is to be my ... _belle soeur_.'

'My dearest Pavel! But what will Arkady say?'

'Arkady? he'll be in ecstasies, you may depend upon it! Marriage is
against his principles, but then the sentiment of equality in him will
be gratified. And, after all, what sense have class distinctions _au
dix-neuvieme siecle_?'

'Ah, Pavel, Pavel! let me kiss you once more! Don't be afraid, I'll be
careful.'

The brothers embraced each other.

'What do you think, should you not inform her of your intention now?'
queried Pavel Petrovitch.

'Why be in a hurry?' responded Nikolai Petrovitch. 'Has there been any
conversation between you?'

'Conversation between us? _Quelle idee!_'

'Well, that is all right then. First of all, you must get well, and
meanwhile there's plenty of time. We must think it over well, and
consider ...'

'But your mind is made up, I suppose?'

'Of course, my mind is made up, and I thank you from the bottom of my
heart. I will leave you now; you must rest; any excitement is bad for
you.... But we will talk it over again. Sleep well, dear heart, and God
bless you!'

'What is he thanking me like that for?' thought Pavel Petrovitch, when
he was left alone. 'As though it did not depend on him! I will go away
directly he is married, somewhere a long way off--to Dresden or
Florence, and will live there till I----'

Pavel Petrovitch moistened his forehead with eau de cologne, and closed
his eyes. His beautiful, emaciated head, the glaring daylight shining
full upon it, lay on the white pillow like the head of a dead man....
And indeed he was a dead man.

CHAPTER XXV