PART IV - X

The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Translated by Eva Martin

PART IV - X, THE IDIOT by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
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THE prince did not die before his wedding--either by day or
night, as he had foretold that he might. Very probably he passed
disturbed nights, and was afflicted with bad dreams; but, during
the daytime, among his fellow-men, he seemed as kind as ever, and
even contented; only a little thoughtful when alone.

The wedding was hurried on. The day was fixed for exactly a week
after Evgenie's visit to the prince. In the face of such haste as
this, even the prince's best friends (if he had had any) would
have felt the hopelessness of any attempt to save" the poor
madman." Rumour said that in the visit of Evgenie Pavlovitch was
to be discerned the influence of Lizabetha Prokofievna and her
husband... But if those good souls, in the boundless kindness of
their hearts, were desirous of saving the eccentric young fellow
from ruin, they were unable to take any stronger measures to
attain that end. Neither their position, nor their private
inclination, perhaps (and only naturally), would allow them to
use any more pronounced means.

We have observed before that even some of the prince's nearest
neighbours had begun to oppose him. Vera Lebedeff's passive
disagreement was limited to the shedding of a few solitary tears;
to more frequent sitting alone at home, and to a diminished
frequency in her visits to the prince's apartments.

Colia was occupied with his father at this time. The old man died
during a second stroke, which took place just eight days after
the first. The prince showed great sympathy in the grief of the
family, and during the first days of their mourning he was at the
house a great deal with Nina Alexandrovna. He went to the
funeral, and it was observable that the public assembled in
church greeted his arrival and departure with whisperings, and
watched him closely.

The same thing happened in the park and in the street, wherever
he went. He was pointed out when he drove by, and he often
overheard the name of Nastasia Philipovna coupled with his own as
he passed. People looked out for her at the funeral, too, but she
was not there; and another conspicuous absentee was the captain's
widow, whom Lebedeff had prevented from coming.

The funeral service produced a great effect on the prince. He
whispered to Lebedeff that this was the first time he had ever
heard a Russian funeral service since he was a little boy.
Observing that he was looking about him uneasily, Lebedeff asked
him whom he was seeking.

"Nothing. I only thought I--"

"Is it Rogojin?"

"Why--is he here?"

"Yes, he's in church."

"I thought I caught sight of his eyes!" muttered the prince, in
confusion. "But what of it!--Why is he here? Was he asked?"

"Oh, dear, no! Why, they don't even know him! Anyone can come in,
you know. Why do you look so amazed? I often meet him; I've seen
him at least four times, here at Pavlofsk, within the last week."

"I haven't seen him once--since that day!" the prince murmured.

As Nastasia Philipovna had not said a word about having met
Rogojin since "that day," the prince concluded that the latter
had his own reasons for wishing to keep out of sight. All the day
of the funeral our hero, was in a deeply thoughtful state, while
Nastasia Philipovna was particularly merry, both in the daytime
and in the evening.

Colia had made it up with the prince before his father's death,
and it was he who urged him to make use of Keller and Burdovsky,
promising to answer himself for the former's behaviour. Nina
Alexandrovna and Lebedeff tried to persuade him to have the
wedding in St. Petersburg, instead of in the public fashion
contemplated, down here at Pavlofsk in the height of the season.
But the prince only said that Nastasia Philipovna desired to have
it so, though he saw well enough what prompted their arguments.

The next day Keller came to visit the prince. He was in a high
state of delight with the post of honour assigned to him at the
wedding.

Before entering he stopped on the threshold, raised his hand as
if making a solemn vow, and cried:

"I won't drink!"

Then he went up to the prince, seized both his hands, shook them
warmly, and declared that he had at first felt hostile towards
the project of this marriage, and had openly said so in the
billiard-rooms, but that the reason simply was that, with the
impatience of a friend, he had hoped to see the prince marry at
least a Princess de Rohan or de Chabot; but that now he saw that
the prince's way of thinking was ten times more noble than that
of "all the rest put together." For he desired neither pomp nor
wealth nor honour, but only the truth! The sympathies of exalted
personages were well known, and the prince was too highly placed
by his education, and so on, not to be in some sense an exalted
personage!

"But all the common herd judge 'differently; in the town, at the
meetings, in the villas, at the band, in the inns and the
billiard-rooms, the coming event has only to be mentioned and
there are shouts and cries from everybody. I have even heard talk
of getting up a 'charivari' under the windows on the wedding-
night. So if 'you have need of the pistol' of an honest man,
prince, I am ready to fire half a dozen shots even before you
rise from your nuptial couch!"

Keller also advised, in anticipation of the crowd making a rush
after the ceremony, that a fire-hose should be placed at the
entrance to the house; but Lebedeff was opposed to this measure,
which he said might result in the place being pulled down.

"I assure you, prince, that Lebedeff is intriguing against you.
He wants to put you under control. Imagine that! To take 'from
you the use of your free-will and your money--that' is to say,
the two things that distinguish us from the animals! I have heard
it said positively. It is the sober truth."

The prince recollected that somebody had told him something of
the kind before, and he had, of course, scoffed at it. He only
laughed now, and forgot the hint at once.

Lebedeff really had been busy for some little while; but, as
usual, his plans had become too complex to succeed, through sheer
excess of ardour. When he came to the prince--the very day before
the wedding--to confess (for he always confessed to the persons
against whom he intrigued, especially when the plan failed), he
informed our hero that he himself was a born Talleyrand, but for
some unknown reason had become simple Lebedeff. He then proceeded
to explain his whole game to the prince, interesting the latter
exceedingly.

According to Lebedeff's account, he had first tried what he could
do with General Epanchin. The latter informed him that he wished
well to the unfortunate young man, and would gladly do what he
could to "save him," but that he did not think it would be seemly
for him to interfere in this matter. Lizabetha Prokofievna would
neither hear nor see him. Prince S. and Evgenie Pavlovitch only
shrugged their shoulders, and implied that it was no business of
theirs. However, Lebedeff had not lost heart, and went off to a
clever lawyer,--a worthy and respectable man, whom he knew well.
This old gentleman informed him that the thing was perfectly
feasible if he could get hold of competent witnesses as to
Muishkin's mental incapacity. Then, with the assistance of a few
influential persons, he would soon see the matter arranged.

Lebedeff immediately procured the services of an old doctor, and
carried the latter away to Pavlofsk to see the prince, by way of
viewing the ground, as it were, and to give him (Lebedeff)
counsel as to whether the thing was to be done or not. The visit
was not to be official, but merely friendly.

Muishkin remembered the doctor's visit quite well. He remembered
that Lebedeff had said that he looked ill, and had better see a
doctor; and although the prince scouted the idea, Lebedeff had
turned up almost immediately with his old friend, explaining that
they had just met at the bedside of Hippolyte, who was very ill,
and that the doctor had something to tell the prince about the
sick man.

The prince had, of course, at once received him, and had plunged
into a conversation about Hippolyte. He had given the doctor an
account of Hippolyte's attempted suicide; and had proceeded
thereafter to talk of his own malady,--of Switzerland, of
Schneider, and so on; and so deeply was the old man interested by
the prince's conversation and his description of Schneider's
system, that he sat on for two hours.

Muishkin gave him excellent cigars to smoke, and Lebedeff, for
his part, regaled him with liqueurs, brought in by Vera, to whom
the doctor--a married man and the father of a family--addressed
such compliments that she was filled with indignation. They
parted friends, and, after leaving the prince, the doctor said to
Lebedeff: "If all such people were put under restraint, there
would be no one left for keepers." Lebedeff then, in tragic
tones, told of the approaching marriage, whereupon the other
nodded his head and replied that, after all, marriages like that
were not so rare; that he had heard that the lady was very
fascinating and of extraordinary beauty, which was enough to
explain the infatuation of a wealthy man; that, further, thanks
to the liberality of Totski and of Rogojin, she possessed--so he
had heard--not only money, but pearls, diamonds, shawls, and
furniture, and consequently she could not be considered a bad
match. In brief, it seemed to the doctor that the prince's
choice, far from being a sign of foolishness, denoted, on the
contrary, a shrewd, calculating, and practical mind. Lebedeff had
been much struck by this point of view, and he terminated his
confession by assuring the prince that he was ready, if need be,
to shed his very life's blood for him.

Hippolyte, too, was a source of some distraction to the prince at
this time; he would send for him at any and every hour of the
day. They lived,--Hippolyte and his mother and the children,--in
a small house not far off, and the little ones were happy, if
only because they were able to escape from the invalid into the
garden. The prince had enough to do in keeping the peace between
the irritable Hippolyte and his mother, and eventually the former
became so malicious and sarcastic on the subject of the
approaching wedding, that Muishkin took offence at last, and
refused to continue his visits.

A couple of days later, however, Hippolyte's mother came with
tears in her eyes, and begged the prince to come back, "or HE
would eat her up bodily." She added that Hippolyte had a great
secret to disclose. Of course the prince went. There was no
secret, however, unless we reckon certain pantings and agitated
glances around (probably all put on) as the invalid begged his
visitor to "beware of Rogojin."

"He is the sort of man," he continued,. "who won't give up his
object, you know; he is not like you and me, prince--he belongs
to quite a different order of beings. If he sets his heart on a
thing he won't be afraid of anything--" and so on.

Hippolyte was very ill, and looked as though he could not long
survive. He was tearful at first, but grew more and more
sarcastic and malicious as the interview proceeded.

The prince questioned him in detail as to his hints about
Rogojin. He was anxious to seize upon some facts which might
confirm Hippolyte's vague warnings; but there were none; only
Hippolyte's own private impressions and feelings.

However, the invalid--to his immense satisfaction--ended by
seriously alarming the prince.

At first Muishkin had not cared to make any reply to his sundry
questions, and only smiled in response to Hippolyte's advice to
"run for his life--abroad, if necessary. There are Russian
priests everywhere, and one can get married all over the world."

But it was Hippolyte's last idea which upset him.

"What I am really alarmed about, though," he said, "is Aglaya
Ivanovna. Rogojin knows how you love her. Love for love. You took
Nastasia Philipovna from him. He will murder Aglaya Ivanovna; for
though she is not yours, of course, now, still such an act would
pain you,--wouldn't it?"

He had attained his end. The prince left the house beside himself
with terror.

These warnings about Rogojin were expressed on the day before the
wedding. That evening the prince saw Nastasia Philipovna for the
last time before they were to meet at the altar; but Nastasia was
not in a position to give him any comfort or consolation. On the
contrary, she only added to his mental perturbation as the
evening went on. Up to this time she had invariably done her best
to cheer him--she was afraid of his looking melancholy; she would
try singing to him, and telling him every sort of funny story or
reminiscence that she could recall. The prince nearly always
pretended to be amused, whether he were so actually or no; but
often enough he laughed sincerely, delighted by the brilliancy of
her wit when she was carried away by her narrative, as she very
often was. Nastasia would be wild with joy to see the impression
she had made, and to hear his laugh of real amusement; and she
would remain the whole evening in a state of pride and happiness.
But this evening her melancholy and thoughtfulness grew with
every hour.

The prince had told Evgenie Pavlovitch with perfect sincerity
that he loved Nastasia Philipovna with all his soul. In his love
for her there was the sort of tenderness one feels for a sick,
unhappy child which cannot be left alone. He never spoke of his
feelings for Nastasia to anyone, not even to herself. When they
were together they never discussed their "feelings," and there
was nothing in their cheerful, animated conversation which an
outsider could not have heard. Daria Alexeyevna, with whom
Nastasia was staying, told afterwards how she had been filled
with joy and delight only to look at them, all this time.

Thanks to the manner in which he regarded Nastasia's mental and
moral condition, the prince was to some extent freed from other
perplexities. She was now quite different from the woman he had
known three months before. He was not astonished, for instance,
to see her now so impatient to marry him--she who formerly had
wept with rage and hurled curses and reproaches at him if he
mentioned marriage! "It shows that she no longer fears, as she
did then, that she would make me unhappy by marrying me," he
thought. And he felt sure that so sudden a change could not be a
natural one. This rapid growth of self-confidence could not be
due only to her hatred for Aglaya. To suppose that would be to
suspect the depth of her feelings. Nor could it arise from dread
of the fate that awaited her if she married Rogojin. These
causes, indeed, as well as others, might have played a part in
it, but the true reason, Muishkin decided, was the one he had
long suspected--that the poor sick soul had come to the end of
its forces. Yet this was an explanation that did not procure him
any peace of mind. At times he seemed to be making violent
efforts to think of nothing, and one would have said that he
looked on his marriage as an unimportant formality, and on his
future happiness as a thing not worth considering. As to
conversations such as the one held with Evgenie Pavlovitch, he
avoided them as far as possible, feeling that there were certain
objections to which he could make no answer.

The prince had observed that Nastasia knew well enough what
Aglaya was to him. He never spoke of it, but he had seen her face
when she had caught him starting off for the Epanchins' house on
several occasions. When the Epanchins left Pavlofsk, she had
beamed with radiance and happiness. Unsuspicious and unobservant
as he was, he had feared at that time that Nastasia might have
some scheme in her mind for a scene or scandal which would drive
Aglaya out of Pavlofsk. She had encouraged the rumours and
excitement among the inhabitants of the place as to her marriage
with the prince, in order to annoy her rival; and, finding it
difficult to meet the Epanchins anywhere, she had, on one
occasion, taken him for a drive past their house. He did not
observe what was happening until they were almost passing the
windows, when it was too late to do anything. He said nothing,
but for two days afterwards he was ill.

Nastasia did not try that particular experiment again. A few days
before that fixed for the wedding, she grew grave and thoughtful.
She always ended by getting the better of her melancholy, and
becoming merry and cheerful again, but not quite so unaffectedly
happy as she had been some days earlier.

The prince redoubled his attentive study of her symptoms. It was
a most curious circumstance, in his opinion, that she never spoke
of Rogojin. But once, about five days before the wedding, when
the prince was at home, a messenger arrived begging him to come
at once, as Nastasia Philipovna was very ill.

He had found her in a condition approaching to absolute madness.
She screamed, and trembled, and cried out that Rogojin was hiding
out there in the garden--that she had seen him herself--and that
he would murder her in the night--that he would cut her throat.
She was terribly agitated all day. But it so happened that the
prince called at Hippolyte's house later on, and heard from his
mother that she had been in town all day, and had there received
a visit from Rogojin, who had made inquiries about Pavlofsk. On
inquiry, it turned out that Rogojin visited the old lady in town
at almost the same moment when Nastasia declared that she had
seen him in the garden; so that the whole thing turned out to be
an illusion on her part. Nastasia immediately went across to
Hippolyte's to inquire more accurately, and returned immensely
relieved and comforted.

On the day before the wedding, the prince left Nastasia in a
state of great animation. Her wedding-dress and all sorts of
finery had just arrived from town. Muishkin had not imagined that
she would be so excited over it, but he praised everything, and
his praise rendered her doubly happy.

But Nastasia could not hide the cause of her intense interest in
her wedding splendour. She had heard of the indignation in the
town, and knew that some of the populace was getting up a sort of
charivari with music, that verses had been composed for the
occasion, and that the rest of Pavlofsk society more or less
encouraged these preparations. So, since attempts were being made
to humiliate her, she wanted to hold her head even higher than
usual, and to overwhelm them all with the beauty and taste of her
toilette. "Let them shout and whistle, if they dare!" Her eyes
flashed at the thought. But, underneath this, she had another
motive, of which she did not speak. She thought that possibly
Aglaya, or at any rate someone sent by her, would be present
incognito at the ceremony, or in the crowd, and she wished to be
prepared for this eventuality.

The prince left her at eleven, full of these thoughts, and went
home. But it was not twelve o'clock when a messenger came to say
that Nastasia was very bad, and he must come at once.

On hurrying back he found his bride locked up in her own room and
could hear her hysterical cries and sobs. It was some time before
she could be made to hear that the prince had come, and then she
opened the door only just sufficiently to let him in, and
immediately locked it behind him. She then fell on her knees at
his feet. (So at least Dana Alexeyevna reported.)

"What am I doing? What am I doing to you?" she sobbed
convulsively, embracing his knees.

The prince was a whole hour soothing and comforting her, and left
her, at length, pacified and composed. He sent another messenger
during the night to inquire after her, and two more next morning.
The last brought back a message that Nastasia was surrounded by a
whole army of dressmakers and maids, and was as happy and as busy
as such a beauty should be on her wedding morning, and that there
was not a vestige of yesterday's agitation remaining. The message
concluded with the news that at the moment of the bearer's
departure there was a great confabulation in progress as to which
diamonds were to be worn, and how.

This message entirely calmed the prince's mind.

The following report of the proceedings on the wedding day may be
depended upon, as coming from eye-witnesses.

The wedding was fixed for eight o'clock in the evening. Nastasia
Philipovna was ready at seven. From six o'clock groups of people
began to gather at Nastasia's house, at the prince's, and at the
church door, but more especially at the former place. The church
began to fill at seven.

Colia and Vera Lebedeff were very anxious on the prince's
account, but they were so busy over the arrangements for
receiving the guests after the wedding, that they had not much
time for the indulgence of personal feelings.

There were to be very few guests besides the best men and so on;
only Dana Alexeyevna, the Ptitsins, Gania, and the doctor. When
the prince asked Lebedeff why he had invited the doctor, who was
almost a stranger, Lebedeff replied:

"Why, he wears an 'order,' and it looks so well!"

This idea amused the prince.

Keller and Burdovsky looked wonderfully correct in their dress-
coats and white kid gloves, although Keller caused the bridegroom
some alarm by his undisguisedly hostile glances at the gathering
crowd of sight-seers outside.

At about half-past seven the prince started for the church in his
carriage.

We may remark here that he seemed anxious not to omit a single
one of the recognized customs and traditions observed at
weddings. He wished all to be done as openly as possible, and "in
due order."

Arrived at the church, Muishkin, under Keller's guidance, passed
through the crowd of spectators, amid continuous whispering and
excited exclamations. The prince stayed near the altar, while
Keller made off once more to fetch the bride.

On reaching the gate of Daria Alexeyevna's house, Keller found a
far denser crowd than he had encountered at the prince's. The
remarks and exclamations of the spectators here were of so
irritating a nature that Keller was very near making them a
speech on the impropriety of their conduct, but was luckily
caught by Burdovsky, in the act of turning to address them, and
hurried indoors.

Nastasia Philipovna was ready. She rose from her seat, looked
into the glass and remarked, as Keller told the tale afterwards,
that she was "as pale as a corpse." She then bent her head
reverently, before the ikon in the corner, and left the room.

A torrent of voices greeted her appearance at the front door. The
crowd whistled, clapped its hands, and laughed and shouted; but
in a moment or two isolated voices were distinguishable.

"What a beauty!" cried one.

"Well, she isn't the first in the world, nor the last," said
another.

"Marriage covers everything," observed a third.

"I defy you to find another beauty like that," said a fourth.

"She's a real princess! I'd sell my soul for such a princess as
that!"

Nastasia came out of the house looking as white as any
handkerchief; but her large dark eyes shone upon the vulgar crowd
like blazing coals. The spectators' cries were redoubled, and
became more exultant and triumphant every moment. The door of the
carriage was open, and Keller had given his hand to the bride to
help her in, when suddenly with a loud cry she rushed from him,
straight into the surging crowd. Her friends about her were
stupefied with amazement; the crowd parted as she rushed through
it, and suddenly, at a distance of five or six yards from the
carriage, appeared Rogojin. It was his look that had caught her
eyes.

Nastasia rushed to him like a madwoman, and seized both his
hands.

"Save me!" she cried. "Take me away, anywhere you like, quick!"

Rogojin seized her in his arms and almost carried her to the
carriage. Then, in a flash, he tore a hundred-rouble note out of
his pocket and held it to the coachman.

"To the station, quick! If you catch the train you shall have
another. Quick!"

He leaped into the carriage after Nastasia and banged the door.
The coachman did not hesitate a moment; he whipped up the horses,
and they were oft.

"One more second and I should have stopped him," said Keller,
afterwards. In fact, he and Burdovsky jumped into another
carriage and set off in pursuit; but it struck them as they drove
along that it was not much use trying to bring Nastasia back by
force.

"Besides," said Burdovsky," the prince would not like it, would
he?" So they gave up the pursuit.

Rogojin and Nastasia Philipovna reached the station just in time
for the train. As he jumped out of the carriage and was almost on
the point of entering the train, Rogojin accosted a young girl
standing on the platform and wearing an old-fashioned, but
respectable-looking, black cloak and a silk handkerchief over her
head.

"Take fifty roubles for your cloak?" he shouted, holding the
money out to the girl. Before the astonished young woman could
collect her scattered senses, he pushed the money into her hand,
seized the mantle, and threw it and the handkerchief over
Nastasia's head and shoulders. The latter's wedding-array would
have attracted too much attention, and it was not until some time
later that the girl understood why her old cloak and kerchief had
been bought at such a price.

The news of what had happened reached the church with
extraordinary rapidity. When Keller arrived, a host of people
whom he did not know thronged around to ask him questions. There
was much excited talking, and shaking of heads, even some
laughter; but no one left the church, all being anxious to
observe how the now celebrated bridegroom would take the news. He
grew very pale upon hearing it, but took it quite quietly.

"I was afraid," he muttered, scarcely audibly, "but I hardly
thought it would come to this." Then after a short silence, he
added: "However, in her state, it is quite consistent with the
natural order of things."

Even Keller admitted afterwards that this was "extraordinarily
philosophical" on the prince's part. He left the church quite
calm, to all appearances, as many witnesses were found to declare
afterwards. He seemed anxious to reach home and be left alone as
quickly as possible; but this was not to be. He was accompanied
by nearly all the invited guests, and besides this, the house was
almost besieged by excited bands of people, who insisted upon
being allowed to enter the verandah. The prince heard Keller and
Lebedeff remonstrating and quarrelling with these unknown
individuals, and soon went out himself. He approached the
disturbers of his peace, requested courteously to be told what
was desired; then politely putting Lebedeff and Keller aside, he
addressed an old gentleman who was standing on the verandah steps
at the head of the band of would-be guests, and courteously
requested him to honour him with a visit. The old fellow was
quite taken aback by this, but entered, followed by a few more,
who tried to appear at their ease. The rest remained outside, and
presently the whole crowd was censuring those who had accepted
the invitation. The prince offered seats to his strange visitors,
tea was served, and a general conversation sprang up. Everything
was done most decorously, to the considerable surprise of the
intruders. A few tentative attempts were made to turn the
conversation to the events of the day, and a few indiscreet
questions were asked; but Muishkin replied to everybody with such
simplicity and good-humour, and at the same time with so much
dignity, and showed such confidence in the good breeding of his
guests, that the indiscreet talkers were quickly silenced. By
degrees the conversation became almost serious. One gentleman
suddenly exclaimed, with great vehemence: "Whatever happens, I
shall not sell my property; I shall wait. Enterprise is better
than money, and there, sir, you have my whole system of economy,
if you wish!" He addressed the prince, who warmly commended his
sentiments, though Lebedeff whispered in his ear that this
gentleman, who talked so much of his "property," had never had
either house or home.

Nearly an hour passed thus, and when tea was over the visitors
seemed to think that it was time to go. As they went out, the
doctor and the old gentleman bade Muishkin a warm farewell, and
all the rest took their leave with hearty protestations of good-
will, dropping remarks to the effect that "it was no use
worrying," and that "perhaps all would turn out for the best,"
and so on. Some of the younger intruders would have asked for
champagne, but they were checked by the older ones. When all had
departed, Keller leaned over to Lebedeff, and said:

"With you and me there would have been a scene. We should have
shouted and fought, and called in the police. But he has simply
made some new friends--and such friends, too! I know them!"

Lebedeff, who was slightly intoxicated, answered with a sigh:

"Things are hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto
babes. I have applied those words to him before, but now I add
that God has preserved the babe himself from the abyss, He and
all His saints."

At last, about half-past ten, the prince was left alone. His head
ached. Colia was the last to go, after having helped him to
change his wedding clothes. They parted on affectionate terms,
and, without speaking of what had happened, Colia promised to
come very early the next day. He said later that the prince had
given no hint of his intentions when they said good-bye, but had
hidden them even from him. Soon there was hardly anyone left in
the house. Burdovsky had gone to see Hippolyte; Keller and
Lebedeff had wandered off together somewhere.

Only Vera Lebedeff remained hurriedly rearranging the furniture
in the rooms. As she left the verandah, she glanced at the
prince. He was seated at the table, with both elbows upon it, and
his head resting on his hands. She approached him, and touched
his shoulder gently. The prince started and looked at her in
perplexity; he seemed to be collecting his senses for a minute or
so, before he could remember where he was. As recollection dawned
upon him, he became violently agitated. All he did, however, was
to ask Vera very earnestly to knock at his door and awake him in
time for the first train to Petersburg next morning. Vera
promised, and the prince entreated her not to tell anyone of his
intention. She promised this, too; and at last, when she had
half-closed the door, be called her back a third time, took her
hands in his, kissed them, then kissed her forehead, and in a
rather peculiar manner said to her, "Until tomorrow!"

Such was Vera's story afterwards.

She went away in great anxiety about him, but when she saw him in
the morning, he seemed to be quite himself again, greeted her
with a smile, and told her that he would very likely be back by
the evening. It appears that he did not consider it necessary to
inform anyone excepting Vera of his departure for town.