pauvre mère） had appeared to her and reproached her for yielding to a man’s allurements without marriage。 Mademoiselle was often touched to tears； as in imagination she told “him；” her seducer； this tale。 Now this “he；” a real Russian prince； had appeared。 He would elope with her； then “my poor mother” would come on the scene； and he would marry her。 This was how all her future history shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne’s brain at the very moment when she was talking to him of Paris。 Mademoiselle Bourienne was not guided by calculations （she did not even consider for one instant what she would do）； but it had all been ready within her long before； and now it all centred about Anatole as soon as he appeared； and she wished and tried to attract him as much as possible。
The little princess； like an old warhorse hearing the blast of the trumpet； was prepared to gallop off into a flirtation as her habit was； unconsciously forgetting her position； with no ulterior motive； no struggle； nothing but simple…hearted； frivolous gaiety in her heart。
Although in feminine society Anatole habitually took up the attitude of a man weary of the attentions of women； his vanity was agreeably flattered by the spectacle of the effect he produced on these three women。 Moreover； he was beginning to feel towards the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne that violent； animal feeling； which was apt to come upon him with extreme rapidity； and to impel him to the coarsest and most reckless actions。
After tea the party moved into the divan…room； and Princess Marya was asked to play on the clavichord。 Anatole leaned on his elbow facing her； and near Mademoiselle Bourienne； and his eyes were fixed on Princess Marya； full of laughter and glee。 Princess Marya felt his eyes upon her with troubled and joyful agitation。 Her favourite sonata bore her away to a world of soul…felt poetry； and the feeling of his eyes upon her added still more poetry to that world。 The look in Anatole’s eyes； though they were indeed fixed upon her； had reference not to her； but to the movements of Mademoiselle’s little foot； which he was at that very time touching with his own under the piano。 Mademoiselle Bourienne too was gazing at Princess Marya； and in her fine eyes； too； there was an expression of frightened joy and hope that was new to the princess。
“How she loves me！” thought Princess Marya。 “How happy I am now and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband！ Can he possibly be my husband？” she thought； not daring to glance at his face； but still feeling his eyes fastened upon her。
When the party broke up after supper； Anatole kissed Princess Marya’s hand。 She was herself at a loss to know how she had the hardihood； but she looked straight with her short…sighted eyes at the handsome face as it came close to her。 After the princess； he bent over the hand of Mademoiselle Bourienne （it was a breach of etiquette； but he did everything with the same ease and simplicity） and Mademoiselle Bourienne crimsoned and glanced in dismay at the princess。
“Quelle délicatesse！” thought Princess Marya。 “Can Amélie” （Mademoiselle’s name） “suppose I could be jealous of her； and fail to appreciate her tenderness and devotion to me？” She went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne and kissed her warmly。 Anatole went to the little princess。
“No； no； no！ When your father writes me word that you are behaving well； I will give you my hand to kiss。” And shaking her little finger at him； she went smiling out of the room。
Chapter 5
THEY ALL WENT to their rooms； and except Anatole； who fell asleep the instant he got into bed； no one could get to sleep for a long while that night。 “Can he possibly be—my husband； that stranger； that handsome； kind man； yes； he is certainly kind；” thought Princess Marya； and a feeling of terror； such as she scarcely ever felt； came upon her。 She was afraid to look round； it seemed to her that there was some one there—the devil； and he was that man with his white forehead； black eyebrows； and red lips。
She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room。
Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the winter garden for a long while that evening； in vain expectation of some one； at one moment she was smiling at that some one； the next； moved to tears by an imaginary reference to ma pauvre mère reproaching her for her fall。
The little princess kept grumbling to her maid that her bed had not been properly made。 She could not lie on her side nor on her face。 She felt uncomfortable and ill at ease in every position。 Her burden oppressed her； oppressed her more than ever that night； because Anatole’s presence had carried her vividly back to another time when it was not so； and she had been light and gay。 She sat in a low chair in her nightcap and dressing…jacket。 Katya； sleepy and dishevelled； for the third time beat and turned the heavy feather bed； murmuring something。
“I told you it was all in lumps and hollows；” the little princess repeated； “I should be glad enough to go to sleep； so it’s not my fault。”
And her voice quivered like a child’s when it is going to cry。
The old prince too could not sleep。 Tihon； half asleep； heard him pacing angrily up and down and blowing his nose。 The old prince felt as though he had been insulted through his daughter。 The insult was the more bitter because it concerned not himself； but another； his daughter； whom he loved more than himself。 He said to himself that he would think the whole matter over thoroughly and decide what was right and what must be done； but instead of doing so； he only worked up his irritation more and more。
“The first stray comer that appears！ and father and all forgotten； and she runs upstairs； and does up her hair； and rigs herself out； and doesn’t know what she’s doing！ She’s glad to abandon her father！ And she knew I should notice it。 Fr…fr…fr…And don’t I see the fool has no eyes but for Bourienne （must get rid of her）。 And how can she have so little pride； as not to see it？ If not for her own sake； if she has no pride； at least for mine。 I must show her that the blockhead doesn’t give her a thought； and only looks at Bourienne。 She has no pride； but I’ll make her see it…”
By telling his daughter that she was making a mistake； that Anatole was getting up a flirtation with Mademoiselle Bourienne； the old prince knew that he would wound her self…respect； and so his object （not to be parted from his daughter） would be gained； and so at this reflection he grew calmer。 He called Tihon and began undressing。
“The devil brought them here！” he thought； as Tihon slipped his nightshirt over his dried…up old body and his chest covered with grey hair。
“I didn’t invite them。 They come and upset my life。 And there’s not much of it left。 Damn them！” he muttered； while his head was hidden in the nightshirt。 Tihon was used to the prince’s habit of expressing his thoughts aloud； and so it was with an unmoved countenance that he met the wrathful and inquiring face that emerged from the nightshirt。
“Gone to bed？” inquired the prince。
Tihon； like all good valets； indeed； knew by instinct the direction of his master’s thoughts。 He guessed that it was Prince Vassily and his son who were meant。
“Their honours have gone to bed and put out their lights； your excellency。”
“They had no reason； no reason…” the prince articulated rapidly； and slipping his feet into his slippers and his arms into his dressing…gown； he went to the couch on which he always slept。
Although nothing had been said between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne； they understood each other perfectly so far as the first part of the romance was concerned； the part previous to the pauvre mère episode。 They felt that they had a great deal to say to each other in private； and so from early morning they sought an opportunity of meeting alone。 While the princess was away； spending her hour as usual with her father； Mademoiselle Bourienne was meeting Anatole in the winter garden。
That day it was with even more than her usual trepidation that Princess Marya went to the door of the study。 It seemed to her not only that every one was aware that her fate would be that day decided； but that all were aware of what she was feeling about it。 She read it in Tihon’s face and in the face of Prince Vassily’s valet； who met her in the corridor with hot water； and made her a low bow。
The old prince’s manner to his daughter that morning was extremely affectionate； though strained。 That strained expression Princess Marya knew well。 It was the expression she saw in his face at the moments when his withered hands were clenched with vexation at Princess Marya’s not understanding some arithmetical problem； and he would get up and walk away from her； repeating the same words over several times in a low voice。
He came to the point at once and began talking。 “A proposal has been made to me on your behalf；” he said； with an unnatural smile。 “I dare say； you have guessed；” he went on “that Prince Vassily has not come here and brought his protégé” （for some unknown reason the old prince elected to refer to Anatole in this way） “for the sake of my charms。 Yesterday； they made me a proposal on your behalf。 And as you know my principles； I refer the matter to you。”
“How am I to understand you； mon père？” said the princess； turning pale and red。
“How understand me！” cried her father angrily。 “Prince Vassily finds you to his taste as a daughter…in…law； and makes you a proposal for his protégé。 That’s how to understand it。 How understand it！… Why； I ask you。”
“I don’t know how you； mon père…” the princess articulated in a whisper。
“I？ I？ what have I to do with it？ leave me out of the question。 I am not going to be married。 What do you say？ that’s what it’s desirable to learn。”
The princess saw that her father looked with ill…will on the project； but at that instant the thought had occurred to her that now or never the fate of her life would be decided。 She dropped her eyes so as to avoid the gaze under which she felt incapable of thought； and capable of nothing but her habitual obedience： “My only desire is to carry out your wishes；” she said； “if I had to express my own desire…