Fyodor Dostoevsky

chateau. During the last two weeks I had looked for much to

transpire, but am still ignorant whether at that time anything

decisive ever passed between Mademoiselle and the General.

Everything seemed to depend upon our means--upon whether the

General would be able to flourish sufficient money in her face.

If ever the news should arrive that the grandmother was not

dead, Mlle. Blanche, I felt sure, would disappear in a

twinkling. Indeed, it surprised and amused me to observe what a

passion for intrigue I was developing. But how I loathed it all!

With what pleasure would I have given everybody and everything

the go-by! Only--I could not leave Polina. How, then, could I

show contempt for those who surrounded her? Espionage is a base

thing, but--what have I to do with that?

Mr. Astley, too, I found a curious person. I was only sure that

he had fallen in love With Polina. A remarkable and diverting

circumstance is the amount which may lie in the mien of a shy

and painfully modest man who has been touched with the divine

passion--especially when he would rather sink into the earth than

betray himself by a single word or look. Though Mr. Astley

frequently met us when we were out walking, he would merely take

off his hat and pass us by, though I knew he was dying to join

us. Even when invited to do so, he would refuse. Again, in

places of amusement--in the Casino, at concerts, or near the

fountain--he was never far from the spot where we were sitting.

In fact, WHEREVER we were in the Park, in the forest, or on the

Shlangenberg--one needed but to raise one's eyes and glance

around to catch sight of at least a PORTION of Mr. Astley's

frame sticking out--whether on an adjacent path or behind a bush.

Yet never did he lose any chance of speaking to myself; and, one

morning when we had met, and exchanged a couple of words, he

burst out in his usual abrupt way, without saying "Good-morning."

"That Mlle. Blanche," he said. "Well, I have seen a good many

women like her."

After that he was silent as he looked me meaningly in the face.

What he meant I did not know, but to my glance of inquiry he

returned only a dry nod, and a reiterated "It is so."

Presently, however, he resumed:

"Does Mlle. Polina like flowers?"

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