al name was Lubov Sergievna,
and who was a grown-up young lady living on a family footing with the
Nechludoffs) he discoursed with animation.

"Yes, she is a wonderful woman," he said with a conscious reddening of
the face, yet looking me in the eyes with dogged temerity. "True, she
is no longer young, and even rather elderly, as well as by no means
good-looking; but as for loving a mere featherhead, a mere beauty--well,
I never could understand that, for it is such a silly thing to do."
(Dimitri said this as though he had just discovered a most novel and
extraordinary truth.) "I am certain, too, that such a soul, such a heart
and principles, as are hers are not to be found elsewhere in the world
of the present day." (I do not know whence he had derived the habit
of saying that few good things were discoverable in the world of the
present day, but at all events he loved to repeat the expression, and it
somehow suited him.)

"Only, I am afraid," he went on quietly, after thus annihilating all
such men as were foolish enough to admire mere beauty, "I am afraid
that you will not understand or realise her quickly. She is modest,
even secretive, and by no means fond of exhibiting her beautiful and
surprising qualities. Now, my mother--who, as you will see, is a noble,
sensible woman--has known Lubov Sergievna, for many years; yet even to
this day she does not properly understand her. Shall I tell you why I
was out of temper last evening when you were questioning me? Well, you
must know that the day before yesterday Lubov asked me to accompany her
to Ivan Yakovlevitch's (you have heard of him, I suppose? the fellow who
seems to be mad, but who, in reality, is a very remarkable man). Well,
Lubov is extremely religious, and understands Ivan Yakovlevitch to the
full. She often goes to see him, and converses with him, and gives
him money for the poor--money which she has earned herself. She is a
marvellous woman, as you will see. Well, I went with her to Ivan's,
and felt very grateful to her for having afforded me the opportunity
of exchanging a word with so remarkable a man; but my mother could not
understand our action at all, and discerned in it only superstition.
Consequently, last night she and I quarrelled for the first time in our
lives. A very bitter one it was, too," he concluded, with a convulsive
shrug of his shoulders, as though the mention of it recalled the
feelings which he had then experienced.

"And what are y