part of it. Yet it perhaps contained the
explanation of the possibility of the terrible question with which she
suddenly addressed her son.

"Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch," she repeated, rapping out her words in a
resolute voice in which there was a ring of menacing challenge, "I beg
you to tell me at once, without moving from that place; is it true that
this unhappy cripple--here she is, here, look at her--is it true that
she is... your lawful wife?"

I remember that moment only too well; he did not wink an eyelash but
looked intently at his mother. Not the faintest change in his face
followed. At last he smiled, a sort of indulgent smile, and without
answering a word went quietly up to his mother, took her hand, raised it
respectfully to his lips and kissed it. And so great was his invariable
and irresistible ascendancy over his mother that even now she could not
bring herself to pull away her hand. She only gazed at him, her whole
figure one concentrated question, seeming to betray that she could not
bear the suspense another moment.

But he was still silent. When he had kissed her hand, he scanned the
whole room once more, and moving, as before, without haste went towards
Marya Timofyevna. It is very difficult to describe people's countenances
at certain moments. I remember, for instance, that Marya Timofyevna,
breathless with fear, rose to her feet to meet him and clasped her hands
before her, as though beseeching him. And at the same time I remember
the frantic ecstasy which almost distorted her face--an ecstasy almost
too great for any human being to bear. Perhaps both were there, both the
terror and the ecstasy. But I remember moving quickly towards her (I was
standing not far off), for I fancied she was going to faint.

"You should not be here," Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch said to her in
a caressing and melodious voice; and there was the light of an
extraordinary tenderness in his eyes. He stood before her in the most
respectful attitude, and every gesture showed sincere respect for her.
The poor girl faltered impulsively in a half-whisper.

"But may I... kneel down... to you now?"

"No, you can't do that."

He smiled at her magnificently, so that she too laughed joyfully at
once. In the same melodious voice, coaxing her tenderly as though she
were a child, he went on gravely.

"Only think that you are a girl, and that though I'm your devoted friend
I'm an outsider, not your husband, nor your father, nor your